All These Things That I've Done II
by chb76
Summary: You wanna know why I'm so 'screwed in the head'...then why don't you take a look in the DAMN MIRROR! Lies and secrets and Crossroad Deals drive wedges and tear asunder. It's hard to save someone who doesn't want to be saved.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:** Don't you just hate it when your fave TV show makes your fic AU? Annoying not to mention awkward. So according to part one the boys already had that conversation so I kind of have to find a way to explain it. It's a bit lame but it was the best I could do other than have Sam bang his head or get drunk and forget that Dean had told him the terms of the deal. Sorry but I refuse to do AU so you're just gonna have to bear with me on this and – I dunno just go with it._

**_Yeah SPOLIERS!! for season 3 here so don't read unless you wanna be SPOLIED. _**

**_Summary:_** **_"You wanna know why I'm so 'screwed in the head'...then why don't you take a look in the DAMN MIRROR!" Lies and secrets and Crossroad Deals drive wedges and tear asunder. It's hard to save someone who doesn't want to be saved._**

_SEQUEL: Probably a good idea to read part one first if you haven't already otherwise it may not make all that much sense._

_Characters: Dean, Sam, Bobby possibly others haven't decided yet._

_Warnings: rated T for language, possibly some violence later on but I'll put a warning on the chapter in question. No Wincest. Ever. No (major) character death. Ever. (Unless it's canon which it had better not be) Chick flick moments. Always. Angst. Misery. Plenty. Oh yeah this is prob going to end up being a trilogy with part 2 covering the 1st half of S3 and the third and final part covering and concluding over the 2nd half of the season so only read this if you're feeling patient._

_Quotes taken from the series are in italics. Not mine just borrowed._

_Sorry about the long waffle. Hope you enjoy._

**All These Things That I've done II:_ If I Can't Save you_**

"Say it Dean."

"Ow, dude get off me."

"Not until you say it."

"I'm not sayin' nothing you freak."

Sam is stood to Dean's left, his right hand pinching his older brother's ear in some sadistic from of torture, Dean thinks, and every time he tries to knock his hand away Sam squeezes and twists it a little more and he thinks to himself that maybe old yellow eyes was right and his brother is actually one evil son of a bitch. Sam's face however is one of placid serenity not to mention slight smugness, that such a simple thing as an ear twist has somehow disabled the older hunter and transformed him into a whiney and helpless little boy. Sam watches his brother's reflection in the mirror they're both facing contort into an angry and pained grimace.

"Ow! Sam let go or I swear I'm gonna kill you. And I mean _**kill**_ you."

"Now that would be a little stupid, don't you think, Dean? You know considering the situation."

Sam cocks his head to the side as if he is addressing a small and slightly stupid child.

"Fine well I'll just torture you then you bitch."

Dean's is practically spitting blood.

"Say. It."

"Screw you."

Another twist.

"Ahrgh! Fine alright I'll say it."

"Go one then.

"I'm... I'm not..."

A huff and a sigh.

"I'm not... wumftumph..."

"Sorry didn't quite catch that."

"Ow! I said I'm not worthless damn it!"

"And?"

"My life has...ow..._meaning_."

Sam ignores the obvious sarcasm in his brother's voice and presses for one last affirmation.

"And what else."

"Ahhgh I hate you, you little shit."

"Come on Dean, you can do this."

"Alright - I...I don't deserve to die. Dammit Sam! There - you happy?"

Sam grins triumphantly but his smile fades at a familiar deep voice interrupting his unwanted and uninvited self help session with his messed up and extremely pissed off big brother.

"Erm... boys?"

The two brothers turn round in unison to find there dad's old friend leaning against the door frame, munching on an apple, an odd look on his face.

"Watchya doin'?"

"Bobby! Thank God. You think you could get this giant girl off of me?"

Sam quickly lets go of his brother's ear and grins innocently at Bobby who winces shaking his head before walking away calling over his shoulder through a mouthful of apple.

"Get your touchy feely asses in gear, we got work to do."

--

_The first was when he was four and too young to know what a broken heart was. He didn't really understand the ache in his chest and the feeling of sinking slowly into nothingness and the tears that came whenever there was no one there. He didn't understand why someone had taken his Mom away and why she wasn't coming back. He didn't understand why his Dad didn't hug him anymore, didn't play with him, didn't throw him in the air until he giggled and he didn't understand why the baby would laugh at him and gurgle when his Mommy was dead. He wanted to scream at the baby wanted to ask him why he didn't cry for her, why he wasn't sad, why he wasn't falling apart like was. Of course he didn't understand the concept of falling apart as it was something four year olds in general didn't have to worry about._

_She had faith. That he did understand. It was easy. It was easy for four year olds to believe because they hadn't been changed by the world yet, hadn't been twisted and contorted by it's cruelty. Four year olds would believe anything you told them about magic and ghosts and angels and God. It was the stuff that four year olds dreamed about and it was easy to believe when no one had told you that magic wasn't real. Four year olds would believe you if you told them that there were angels protecting them and that heaven was a place that they would see one day and four year olds would have faith if you gave them the smallest reason to believe._

_If however you took that faith and destroyed it, slashed it in half and burned it alive they would never believe in anything again._

_"Mommy could you leave the light on?"_

_She stopped before reaching the door and turned to face her first born son, his innocent green eyes gazing back at her. She wondered why he would want the light on. He knew nothing of monsters and devils and things that hid under the bed. He hadn't seen what she had seen. She smiled at the love of her life and padded back to him stroking the hair away from his face and placed a kiss on his head._

_"Why sweetie? You don't have to be afraid of the dark."_

_The child shrugged._

_"I dunno Mommy; I just want the light on. Just in case the boogie man comes."_

_"You don't have to be afraid of him, love. He can't get you. Besides, angels are watching over you remember?"_

_The boy rolled his eyes._

_"Yes, Mommy."_

_She kissed him again and was about to leave until he grabbed her hand with his tiny one and she sat back down smiling at him questioningly._

_"Mommy, is there really a God?"_

_"Sure there is honey."_

_"How do you know? I mean I can't even see him."_

_She made herself comfortable on the bed and touched her son's forehead gently._

_"You know when you wake up in the morning and the sun is just coming up and everything looks golden and magical and brand new?"_

_He nodded._

_"Well, that's God."_

_He screwed up his face unconvinced and she laughed._

_"Ok, what about when Sammy was born, you remember when I let you hold him?"_

_He nodded again._

_"And he squeezed your finger so tight and he just stared at you like you were the only person in the whole world?"_

_"Was that God mommy?"_

_She nodded smiling._

_He looked thoughtful for a moment then looked back at her squinting._

_"Daddy said it was because he was trying to squeeze out his first fart."_

_She bit her lip trying her hardest not to laugh and frowned admonishingly at her eldest son._

_"Well your daddy's got a dirty mind and you shouldn't go repeating everything he says."_

_He stared seriously at her for a few seconds then grinned which she couldn't help but instantly reciprocate._

_She shook her head and pointed her finger at him pretending to scold then brushed the hair off his forehead._

_"It wasn't a fart. But I meant what I said. God's everywhere sweetie so you don't ever have to be afraid. His angels are always watching over you."_

_She kissed him one last time before standing and padding softly to the door. She was going to leave the light on anyway but then her son called her to a stop._

_"Mommy, you can turn it off. I don't need it." _

_She smiled proudly at her eldest, before walking away from him, not even knowing she was walking out of the door, out of his life and taking his childhood, his innocence and his faith with her._

_--_

It doesn't take long for the last week to fade into history. A vague distant memory that neither of them are sure even happened. The days previous to that are clear. They had happened although they both wish they hadn't.

Those days had left them raw and open like a gaping wound and things had been said that were so out of character it was scary. It had scared Dean how vulnerable he had felt and how easy it had been to break down in his little brother's arms and allow himself to be comforted like that. Things like that generally didn't get shared but things like what had happened to them generally didn't happen all that often so the rules were out.

It wasn't every day you lost your baby brother and watched him die in front of you. It wasn't every day you were brought back from the dead only to find out your big brother's soul was forfeit. It wasn't every day you saw your dead father escape from hell only to vanish in front of your eyes and it wasn't every day that you brought about the end of the world.

These things could mess with your head so maybe they could be forgiven for the things that had been said, the tears that had been set free and the grief that had been thrown out into the world.

Time moves on though and the world keeps spinning and it is easier to forget the things that made you uncomfortable and pretend that they never really happened.

They never had that fight. Sam never called Dean selfish and didn't accuse him of things that he would later regret. Dean's heart didn't break into a thousand pieces at hearing his brother's anger and hatred and the tears of despair he had wept were never wept.

They did of course drink an obscene amount of alcohol those first few days because the world was eerily quiet waiting for war and the nerves were enough to make the hardest of men sick. Besides they reasoned that they deserved it.

But then it hadn't taken long for the mask to return, the defences built up once more and Sam Winchester's big brother was back to being Dean Winchester, hunter extraordinaire, demon ass kicker and all round lovable rogue and not the lost broken soul he had seen during those days.

A part of him is selfishly relieved to have his big brother back. Dean the wise cracking, smart mouthed, sex mad ass he loves without question or condition. It makes him feel safe, secure and he can almost forget that everything is not okay. Almost. Almost because Dean is perhaps a little too cheery. A little too carefree and a little too don't give a shit. If not for those days he may have fallen for it.

It's easier to ignore it though, to pretend all is fine and Sam tries to give him time, give him space, give him a free rein because he only has a year and why shouldn't he get laid if he wants.

It had been a little too much for the eyes to deal with though. No brother should ever have to witness that. He and Dean were close and Sam had managed to get Dean to open up to him in the past but there were still 'parts' of him that he felt really didn't need to be shared especially as seeing that particular part of Dean had managed to put him off his lunch for the next week. A Saturday morning fry up would never be the same again and he had a feeling that that mental image would be haunting him well into old age and would be impossible to erase. He wonders though if maybe in a year when his brother leaves him he won't want to erase it. Maybe he will want to hold on to every last memory no matter how horrible or unpleasant or annoying.

That time when Dean punched him in the face, which in his opinion had been completely uncalled for, the time when he yelled at him just after they lost their dad, the time when he clipped him around the head as if he was a little kid, practically right in front of those cops; then of course there was the Nair in the shampoo debacle, the eyebrow shaving, the time when he had called him a selfish bastard, the time he had pushed him over, pushed him away and the time he had broken down and he had only been able to watch while an older man who wasn't their father had held him while he cried like a child.

He wonders if the things he would rather forget or give little priority to in his brain are things that he will cherish and hold the closest to him when Dean leaves.

What frustrates him is that he didn't get it. He didn't get it when Dean told him he would die. He thought that he had got through to him and that Dean was going to allow him to help. He had protested like he knew he would but he had actually believed that Dean had conceded. He had manipulated him of course, made it out to be about Sam not Dean because that was the only way sometimes but he had thought it had worked. Now it seems pretty obvious that Dean had been humouring him all along because he didn't believe there was a loophole so there was nothing to worry about. No need to worry about the consequences because it would never happen. He can't believe he had been so naive. Dean had told him what would happen but his head had been in bits and he hadn't really taken it all in, hadn't really listened and it hadn't really registered. He'd just reasoned that Dean was being stubborn, overprotective and just assuming the worst. But as soon as he mentions a possible lead Dean apparently does a U- turn and announces he's not going to let him help after all. He won't because Sam will die.

Not maybe he will die. Not just a chance that he may die, not well Dean's afraid that he will die. Will. Actually. Die. Those are the terms.

The terms. He never realised there were terms. Not that it makes a difference to Sam because he intends on paying as little attention to his brother as he does to him, but Dean is adamant that it's not going to happen, not going to apologise for it and not going to regret anything. No regret no remorse no sadness. Just Dean.

Because the mask is back on.

Dean doesn't care now, Dean says it's tough, says yes he is selfish but he's okay with that. Sam supposes that Dean finds it easier to agree with him rather than fight him because Ellen had been right. He has done fighting. And apparently he feels good. Feels good, because Sam's alive, because his fight is nearly over. Feels good maybe because their Dad is out of hell and he doesn't have to hate himself for that anymore. Or is it good because he is going to hell and he still thinks that that is all he deserves? He doubts he'll ever find out because his big brother is back. Dean Winchester is back.

And so is the mask.

--

He knows he's being a jerk but that's what he is. That's where that little exchange came from. Sam doesn't call him a jerk just for the fun of it, it's because he is a jerk and maybe it's time he started acting like one instead of the touchy feely wuss he's being pretending to be for the last few days. Sam had obviously not quite got it into his fuzzy little head when he told him he would die but he doesn't really blame him because he's kind of repressed the memory of those few days himself. He doesn't like to think about how he had felt back then, doesn't want to remember those moments when his little brother dropped to his knees, a hole in his back or how he felt when he saw him alive and whole again or how he felt when Bobby laid into him or how he felt when Sam yelled at him and he can pretend it happened a long time ago not just under a week because it is easier and it doesn't hurt this way.

Don't acknowledge your weaknesses or your anger or your fear his dad had taught him that and now he's going to do his job and get this war finished so at least he can go to his death knowing he at least did something right. Sam would be alive and the world would be safe and he could rest easy. Except he probably won't what with him being in hell and all but he doesn't plan on wasting time worrying about that.

All he plans on worrying about these days is protecting Sam and cleaning up this mess that they made and to hell with those days where Sam had seen him weak because they had never happened.

And Sam would be ok. Sam would always be ok, he was Sam. The strong one, the one who got away, walked away, escaped, the one who stood up to their Dad and refused to believe that this was how their lives had to be. Sam has always believed in himself. Sam has always believed he deserved better. Sam does deserve better. Sam deserves a wife, a family, happiness - all the things that the good people of the world take for granted. And hopefully with him gone he would finally get that.

And yes dammit he does feel good. Because in one year it will all be over and he won't have the fucking responsibility of saving the world, saving Sam, saving himself and it will all. Be. Over. How can he not feel good about that? He no longer has to worry about a future that was always uncertain, no longer has to worry about growing old without a family, dying alone, he's going to die young with all his teeth a decent hairline and all his bladder in tact. No nurses wiping his ass on his death bed, no doctors talking down to him, no having to watch Sammy grow old and senile or worse seeing him die young. Too young. Again.

It's liberating simple as. All these years and the guilt and wondering how he would be judged in the afterlife, what would happen to his soul and could he ever be forgiven for the things he had done and now, he doesn't have to worry about that. There's little point in worrying about how you will be judged when you already know. It's liberating knowing where you're going when you die and it's liberating knowing that you're getting what you deserve, getting what you asked for instead of being constantly let off the hook and all the while worrying if your sins would come back to haunt you and that one day you would be judged and found indebted to the world. A debt that could only be paid for with your soul. Well he knows what's going to happen now. There's no uncertainty, no step into the unknown to be taken, it's all planned out for him and he knows exactly what to expect.

Liberating is definitely the word of the year.

--

He hums cheerfully to one of his favourite songs and does his best to annoy Sam but at the same time lighten the atmosphere. The atmosphere that you could cut with a knife. Yeah that one that always seems to be around these days. These days because Sam is different. Sam is grouchy and angry and Sam snaps a lot. His eyes are darker and his brow more furrowed but it's more than that. He sometimes wonders if when Sam died he took Sammy with him and left him behind returning to his brother with half of himself missing. Or maybe he's just done a lot of growing up and now Sammy is left in the past along with their dead father and mother. It bothers him and he tries to block it out ignore the change in temperament, ignore the darkness, put it down to something else. He worries, because those words still ricochet around his head. THOSE words, those words he wishes he hadn't heard, those words that had made him want to scream and cry the despair suffocating him. Sam has to be Sam. He has to be.

He stops humming for a while and glances across at his brother who is staring out of the window looking thoughtful.

"Dude you ok?"

"I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Why wouldn't I be Dean?"

"I dunno you just seem a little...I dunno - distracted."

Sam doesn't look at him, just hisses.

"I'm _fine_ Dean."

"Alright dude no need to bite my head off."

He waits a few moments.

"You wanna get something to eat?"

"Whatever."

They stop at some crummy diner and have pizza and Sam hardly says anything and Dean does his best to make light conversation but all it seems to do is piss Sam off even more.

"Dude you sure you're ok?"

Dean keeps asking if he's alright and why shouldn't he be he's only facing the prospect of his brother going to hell in a year, but you know sorry to sound like a stuck record and all. Dean keeps looking at him oddly. It's a little weird and it's creeping him out. He thinks Dean's hiding something not telling him something but then he couldn't really complain about that could he? He isn't exactly going to win a Mr Honesty award himself but that's a whole different story. He supposes it _could_ be paranoia. Why Dean keeps giving him those odd little glances. He wonders if maybe Dean's still scared that he'll drop dead on him or something but he has a feeling that it's something else. He wonders if Dean will ever tell him what the Demon said to him that night. He hasn't asked him, doesn't want to bring up bad memories because they have enough of those already.

Of course then there's his own conversation with that seriously dead son of a bitch. That's a memory he can't repress and it's been doing his head in ever since. He sometimes wishes he could tell someone, wants to scream as loud as he can, wants to tell Dean and tell Bobby and beg them to make it all ok and tell him that he doesn't have anything to fear but he can't do that. It's time he grew the hell up and learned to sort things out himself; he is an adult for crying out loud. He has no idea what it would do to Dean to find out what he knew. He keeps it secret to protect him, to preserve their mother's memory as the saint that Dean likes to remember her as. Of course he knows better and he never really had that image of her anyway. It's hard to idolise someone who you hardly knew, who you cannot remember.

He pretends to himself that that is the real reason he doesn't tell his brother and ignores the niggling voices in his head that keep on asking him questions he doesn't want answers to.

_What would he say if he knew? Would he hate you? Would he blame you? Would he wish he'd never made the deal for someone with demon blood in them?_

Dean can't and won't know but he blocks out the doubt and he tries not to think about it sometimes even tells himself that it was all a lie but somehow he knows it isn't. He knows that something happened to their family long ago, that their mother knew the thing that killed her and somehow he was responsible.

--

_"How many dying wishes you gonna get?"_

_"As many as I can squeeze out."_

And it was so fucking ha di ha ha wasn't it. So easy so light hearted and wow they didn't have a care in the world. One year to go - less than a year and all he could do was joke about it. He doesn't want to laugh and joke about dying wishes he doesn't want to talk about them because he hates it when Dean asks for yet another dying wish. He can't say no but he hates having to say yes because by saying yes he's admitting that Dean is dying. He's admitting that Dean will die, admitting that he will fail him and admitting that in less than one year he will watch his brother be ripped away from him and thrown into hell. But instead of saying that he just smiles and goes along with it because what else is he supposed to do? And anyway Sam wants his brother to have fun. Sam wants his brother to have as much fun as he possibly can because he damn well deserves it. Even if he refuses to admit that this dying wish thing has any weight because Dean isn't going to die not if he has anything to do with it, but it doesn't matter because at least Dean is putting himself first for a change.

He'd heard the tone of his voice switch when he'd talked about Ben. His voice was different there was light their and for a few moments the dark and the despair were absent. Sam had tried to hide his relief when Dean had told him the kid wasn't his but knew he'd failed just as much as Dean had failed at hiding his disappointment.

Sam shudders at what having a son would do to Dean right now. He knows that it's something he wants and needs but he also knows it would destroy him if he knew he had created a child who he couldn't possibly form a relationship with. Even if Dean wasn't on death row, Sam knows that he would never bring a child into the world of hunting although he doesn't think the possibility of Dean quitting the job for a family is all that remote. In another life maybe, an alternate reality Dean would give up all this life for a chance at normality a chance at having a family a chance at belonging to something and being happy. He shrugs off the thoughts knowing it doesn't matter anyway. Dean _is_ on death row and Ben _isn't_ his son and their lives are _still_ messed up.

The whole thing did give him some time to do some research though. Research on the deal and research on their Mom. He can't believe he didn't figure out that that bitch was a demon. He should have sensed it, hell he did sense it at least he thinks that he sensed something. He hadn't been prepared for that though. A demon who wanted to help him. Hell she had saved his life, destroyed her own kind and what the hell was that about? He knows that demons lie he isn't stupid and yes maybe he should have exorcised her ass but what if she had been telling the truth. She had been right about their Mom and her friends and as if he doesn't have enough to deal with right now.

Ruby. What kind of a name was that for a demon anyway? She had shown up like some walking cliché with big hair and pouty lips like she thought she was Buffy the frigging vampire slayer or something, so he figures that it's not his fault that he didn't see it coming because you know demons tended to be more subtle. And, yeah what was with the ketchup?

He refuses to admit it to anyone other than the warped part of his own mind, but for one tiny millisecond, he had been filled with the urge to jump her bones when she had told him she could help save Dean. He had been instantly disgusted with himself of course because you know, demon? Hello? But he had wanted to believe it so bad, had wanted it to be true and had had to fight with every fibre not to melt like a puppy and go:

"Wow really Ruby, can you, huh?"

So yes he believes it and yes he wants to let her help or at least use her.

It's hours later, on the road on their way to an another town when Sam decides to check on his brother. He pushes the other shit to the part of his brain that's reserved for 'deal with later' because Dean's been a little quiet since they met up again and they haven't talked properly in, well it seems like ages. He guesses the time he spent with Lisa wasn't exactly as he planned and he finds it hard to believe that he didn't manage to persuade her into getting it on with him so he supposes Dean must have changed his mind which bothers him because that is just too unlike Dean.

"So the two of you have fun then?"

He tries to keep it light hoping that Dean might just let his guard down if he doesn't sense a heavy depressing conversation on the horizon.

"Yeah, it was, um, ok."

"Like how you remembered?"

"Um well we didn't actually - you know. Seemed a little inappropriate."

"Inappropriate? Since when has that stopped you?"

"Sam, she had a kid."

"Yeah I know that, Dean."

Silence.

"Must have been a relief huh? I mean could you imagine the maintenance costs?"

Sam scratches his chin and looks out of the window grinning slightly uncomfortable and Dean turns to look at him.

"Are you trying to be funny?"

Sam's head snaps back to his brother.

"No Dean I'm not. I'm trying to get you to talk to me."

"Hm, should have known."

Dean turns back to the road and reaches for the volume control on the car stereo until Sam blocks his hand.

"Dude I know what you're thinking ok? I know what's goin' off in that head of yours."

"Really? Well I don't need to talk about it then do I?"

"Dean..."

"Sam not now, ok?"

"Dean, just..."

"What?!"

Dean fixes him with an angry glare. Sam stares back sadly.

"Nothing. Just...you gonna be ok?"

Dean raises an eyebrow and turns his eyes back in front, shaking his head exasperated.

"Sorry that was a real dumb question."

Dean had seen it right there in the kid's eyes. It was a glimmer of hope a chance at salvation and maybe just maybe a stab at redemption but it wasn't his to take. Maybe if he had left something behind, something good, then maybe there was hope for his soul or maybe it wouldn't matter so much or maybe it wouldn't hurt so much or maybe hell would be just that bit more bearable. But it wasn't his to take. It was never his. Not his, not his life, not his son. It's just him as it's always been. No one to ease the isolation no one to make the guilt drift away no one to call his and it's better this way because what could he possibly offer a child anyway?

"Dean?"

"Save it Sam."

Sam gives in this time and a few minutes later brings up the subject of Ruby and the possibility that she could help with the deal and Dean shoots him down and practically bites his head off for even suggesting they trust a demon and the whole thing descends into another argument and Sam wonders if he hasn't lost his brother already.

TBC

_I **so** don't want this to be a series of episode tags because well it wouldn't be a sequel then would it? So yeah, sorry this chap was a tad dull but I just needed to do an intro and kind of set the scene. Hope I haven't put you off already - I do have a plot idea, honest._

_**Coming soon: **_

**__**

"I'm serious Dean. This isn't how things are supposed to be. I'm supposed to be dead so maybe I should just go ahead and put it right, put things back how they should be if you won't let me find a way out for both of us."


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for coming back after that less than exciting first chapter. Hope this is better. **

**Oh yeah forgot to mention, quotes from the show are in italic and I own nothing, just for fun and all that malarkey.**

**Chapter 2 **

_The second was his Dad. Of course there was more than one time but for the sake of argument he would think of it as the second. His Dad had left him so many times, but course he never really abandoned him because he always came back and he generally would make it clear that he was coming back. He would tell him: "Look after Sammy and I'll see you real soon." Pastor Jim would always tell him too. "Your Dad won't be gone long; he'll be back before you know it." It was like a script and then there was the man with the truckers cap permanently attached to his head who they were supposed to call Uncle Bobby. He would say the same although he knew it was bullshit because he would hear the two of them arguing sometimes. _

_"You're a real piece of work you know that John?" _

_"Bobby, come on it's just for a few days." _

_"Your son is grieving, John. He needs you here, not out there risking your ass." _

_"My son needs me to protect him which means finding that thing which killed his mother." _

_"You stupid son of a bitch. Those boys don't give a rat's ass about what killed Mary. All they want is their Dad." _

_His dad was a son of bitch. He must be because Uncle Bobby had said so and Bobby was real smart because he had all those books. He had repeated his words back to him once and Bobby had not exactly been impressed. _

_"Where did you learn language like that boy?" _

_"From you, sir." _

_Bobby had chuckled because he had been busted and he knew it. _

_"Yeah, well don't let your Dad hear you say that or he'll bust your butt." _

_"I don't care." _

_And he didn't because he liked the way it sounded. It sounded angry and bitter and that was how he felt and he would say it as often as he damn well liked. _

_Bobby and Pastor Jim were always right though. His Dad did always come back but he would always leave again soon and every time he did it felt like it was the last time. Every time his Dad walked out of the door he felt bad like it was the last time he would see him even though he always promised he would come back. He wasn't sure why his Dad always made that promise because it was a well known fact that grown ups don't keep their promises and that grown ups also lie. His mom had promised him he would be safe and that angels were watching over him but there were no angels watching their house that night only devils so why should he believe his Dad when he told him he would be back. He never ever believed him but when he did come back it was always the best feeling in the world ever but it wouldn't last that long because he would leave again real soon and then the bad feelings would come back and each time they would be worse than the last. _

_The very worst time was when he was ten. That time was different. That time he didn't even bother to say goodbye, to tell him he would be back. He dropped them both off at Pastor Jim's - must have been his turn - and just left. It was a long time before he came back and when he did he didn't come back properly. He never looked at him the same way again and it was his own fault because he had disobeyed orders and almost got Sammy killed. After that he never disobeyed orders again and he never let Sammy out of his sight and he did everything he possibly could to get his Dad to look at him like he used to but he never, ever did. _

_At least not until many years later. He had been given that look one last time. That look that didn't say "What were you thinking?" or "I'm disappointed in you." or "How could you let me down like that?" but instead said something like "I'm proud of you and I love you." He'd been waiting nearly seventeen years for that look and he finally got it only for it to be ripped away from him once again. His dad left him one last time and this time he definitely wasn't coming back. _

_--------------------- _

It's cold tonight and the wind bites greedily at his flesh so he does his best to cover it with the warmth of his coat, protecting it from her bitter sting. He doesn't seem to mind the cold though, finds it almost soothing, normal and normal is good. Silence surrounds him and comforts him and is occasionally broken by the sound of his breathing and the rustle of trees disturbed by the wind and he closes his eyes so that he can almost imagine he's the only living thing on the planet. He tips his head back as far as it will go and eventually opens his eyes so that the sky and the stars fill his vision and for a few moments he feels blessed with peace and stillness because there is only him and the wind and the stars and the sky and no one can harm him.

And then he hears her. A light, rhythmic tip tapping of footsteps accompanied by a coffee rich velvet voice, spoken only for him, calling only to him drawing him out and reeling him in. She speaks admonishingly, lovingly and with a fondness that seems wrong somehow.

"Dean, Dean, Dean, what _am _I going to do with you?"

The familiar voice brings him back from the sky down to earth and he lowers his head to meet her eyes. Green gaze into red and red stare back and the smile is there, a different body but the same smile the same one saved only for him.

"Really, sugar, this…" and suddenly she's inches from his face, "…has got to stop."

His skin prickles with fear and confusion but she just stares at him eyes flashing red and he hears voices echoing around his head, they're talking to him yelling at him with urgency, with condescension, with mockery but he cannot make out a word and then he is struck with a crippling terror that he can't explain or identify but it's there and it's real but then suddenly her expression changes and the red disappears replaced by brown and she cocks her head to the side.

"Dean?"

He opens his mouth to speak but finds he can't and flinches when she grabs his shoulder shaking him roughly.

"Dude, wake up!"

He opens his eyes finding himself short of breath and everything touching him is damp and there appears to be a very concerned six foot four puppy with hazel eyes staring down at him.

"Sammy?"

His voice barely makes it to normal and he rubs at his eyes waiting for his heart to stop racing and his breathing to slow as Sam helps him to sit up.

"You ok man, you were breathing kinda weird?"

"I'm fine, Sam, just had a freaky dream."

"What about?"

"Hmm not too sure."

"Yeah well look lively we're meeting Bobby in an hour."

Yeah that's it, they're meeting Bobby. They always seem to meeting Bobby these days and it always seems to be Bobby who makes the arrangements. It's as if the old man is actually taking an active interest in them like a friend of the family or an uncle and he hates the way that makes him feel. He hates it because it makes him uncomfortable and afraid and freaking depressed all at the same time.

Bobby is around more, Bobby is looking after them, Bobby is trying to be a father to them and he finds himself wanting and needing that more than anything and for a second or two now and again it fills him with something akin to warmth and security and stability although he can't really remember what those things feel like so he's not all that sure. But he hates it and he hates himself for wanting it because it's not his and it's not for him to keep and one day it will all be ripped away and he will be left with nothing. But he can't quite bring himself to tear himself away or even push the older hunter away because this feeling that it gives him – it's just about enough for him to get through the day.

They chat, they banter, they joke and it feels normal. He helps Bobby with the colt and Sam looks through books and they exchange glances and light hearted comments and Bobby smacks him on the shoulder and scowls at him when he makes a comment about the state of Bobby's car and Dean laughs and it's all so freaking normal and safe and familiar.

"_So if we wanna go check out these omens in Ohio, you think you could have that thing ready by this afternoon?" _

He knew the smart ass comment would earn him an equally smart come back and probably a glare that would have made his dad proud, but that was kind of why he said it.

"_Well it won't kill demons by then - but I can promise ya it'll kill **you**." _

Sammy laughs and Dean grins and Bobby just wears that mock furious glare of his and it all just feels right. They have Bobby, he's with them in all this, they're not alone anymore and Bobby answers his cell phone when they call and when Dean tells him they need his help he's there and Bobby never, ever makes him feel like a disappointment; but that look, that playful, affectionate feigned irritation, that glint in his eye and he can almost imagine that his father is still with them. There are similarities and there are differences as far apart as east is from west but it's enough. It reminds him of what was good about his Dad, what made him feel safe, the dark eyes, the mischievous sparkle that told Dean he was messing with him but then Bobby is different because he never let an obsession destroy him and he never made a decision which messed up his two sons beyond all recognition.

But it's enough, just some small piece of familiarity, of home to make it through the day and something to help them pretend they're normal, a family and have people looking out for them even if it is just a weathered, lone hunter with nothing better to do with his time than to watch out for two boys who had been in his life longer than either of them could remember.

"_You boys run into anything – anything. You call me." _

And who dare argue with him? Who could have the balls to look into those eyes and deny or disobey whatever order they gave? Dean never could, he never will and he never wants to but he knows it's temporary not something to rely on because it can't last. Bobby isn't his father and he can't save him.

-------------------------

He thinks to himself that if that wasn't the crappiest of jobs in the history of ever then he would poke himself in the eye. It had sucked from start to finish and left him irritated and frustrated. He had watched as Dean was being throttled by a priest possessed by a demon and he had the ability to stop it. So he had done so of course because what choice did he have? Dean was being throttled, he was being held up in the air having the life choked out of him and the panic which shot through him nearly made him throw up.

It was odd and slightly inappropriate how the thought of what a refreshing change it was to see Dean in a choke hold instead of himself, had popped into his head and it had bothered him how he had hesitated to pay the thought any recognition. It wasn't like him to pay heed to such trivialities and he should have acted without thinking not stopped to ponder on the frequency at which he would often find himself with someone or some_thing's_ hands wrapped around his throat.

And he had killed them both, the demons and the people who were their hosts because he had had no choice. It still pisses him off the way Dean had looked at him like he was wrong, like he had done something really wrong. He hates the fact that two innocent people had to die as much as anyone but he knows the fact remains that they are fighting a war and sometimes people will get caught in the cross fire and he cannot understand why Dean finds it so hard to hear him say that.

So yeah he is pissed. Pissed that he had to kill someone, pissed that someone nearly killed his brother, pissed that Dean keeps looking at him funny, making him feel even worse than he does already and pissed with that Ruby chick. He's pissed with that Ruby chick because he wants to know what the hell her deal is and why she's helping them and how the hell she thinks she can help Dean and can she really help Dean or is she just screwing with him?

None of it makes any sense. He can't figure out why she would help Bobby rebuild the colt when she knows that it could kill her. None of it makes any fucking sense whatsoever and it is really, _really _pissing him off and he just really wants to find out the truth and it reminds him of how he used to feel when he was little and half way through a really cool book and just wanted to know what the hell was going off and how it would all end. Sometimes the suspense would drive him to the brink and he couldn't help himself but take a sneak peak at the ending just to see what was going to happen.

He always regretted it of course but this wasn't a book, it was real and lives depended on him finding out the truth but right now that seemed like the last thing that was going to happen.

-----------------------

It had been weird discussing faith with a demon like he was having a casual chat with a friend or something. He found it even weirder that this demon seemed to have tons more faith than he ever had. You can't really call it faith when you're just a kid and basically believe whatever grown ups tell you and well what little he did have died a long time ago. Of course like most people he still carries around that tiny little bit of hope that there is a God just in case. Just in case you're really up shit creek and there's no way out. A part time God, a convenience God who would be there as and when you needed him but wouldn't get on your ass about confession, being a good person, your drinking habits, keeping your pants on and heaven forbid - church.

Like that time he had been banging that chick from Texas and the condom split and he couldn't think of anything worse than having a kid with her because she was basically nuts and her eyes were a little too far apart and her head was, well - large although he hadn't been quite certain if it was her head or her crazy ass Texan hair. He had begged a God he wasn't sure he even believed in to undo everything to make it not true and to put a barrier up between his little guys and her... whatever and please, please not let her be pregnant. He had begged his Convenience God for a break and had reminded him that he was only nineteen and there were so much more girls out there that deserved his attention and he would have felt terrible to deprive them of his attention.

Then there was the time when his Dad first gave him the keys to the Impala and he had been that excited on his first drive around the block he had reversed it into an old woman and her shopping trolley. Truth be told he had been more worried about what the old dear and her trolley had done to his baby rather than what his baby had done to the old dear and her trolley but he had hissed through clenched teeth while gripping the steering wheel, to whoever was listening that he would be nice to old people for the rest of his life, would make a conscious effort to refrain from using the term 'coffin dodger' and would never refer to that bad tempered old crone down the road as a 'crusty old fart' ever again just as long as she wasn't hurt, then he had slipped in a quick request on behalf of the granny too.

As it turned out they were both fine, no lasting damage and Dean had been true to his word and had visited the old dear regularly, did her shopping and bought her flowers until the day they left town.

He supposes that the little trip to church he paid on Sam's behalf a few weeks ago was an example of just that. The empty and futile prayers of a desperate man with no where else to go and no one else to turn to clutching at the remaining straw and hoping beyond hope that it would be enough. Of course he still _wants_ to believe, he hadn't lied about that. Who wouldn't want to believe in a higher power, someone watching over you, someone to look to when all else had failed, someone to rely on when everyone else had deserted you, someone who would know exactly how fucking terrible you felt and how incredibly sorry you were without you even telling them and someone who loved you unconditionally even when you hated yourself so much it hurt. He's not sure if that sliver of belief or wanting to believe is a result of the fact that he is totally screwed or just because.

Just because. Isn't that what faith is? Believing in something just because. A part of him wishes it were and then maybe he wouldn't feel like a huge gigantic fraud if he dropped to his knees and begged whoever was listening for forgiveness and a get out of Hell card. He isn't afraid of death and he never has been but going to Hell? Whenever he thinks of that he feels something that he has never felt before. He had always believed he knew what fear was but this - this crippling terror, this suffocating dread which sometimes, if he lets it take hold in his mind for more than a moment almost brings him to his knees screaming, the hopelessness twisting inside of him, it is something he had never imagined and sometimes he wonders if the anticipation of Hell isn't worse than Hell itself.

So yes he is scared, he is more scared than he could ever admit, to himself to Sammy to Bobby or that demon chick because Hell is where all his nightmares begin and never end. Hell is where all his fears of being abandoned, of being left alone, of having no one need him, of having no one to look after, no one to protect come true in vivid, high definition 3D and yes he's pretty sure it's going to suck out loud.

It was a stupid question and he'd answered it the only way he knew how but he'd have to be a complete moron not to be afraid, but there was no way he was going to confess his fear to some demon, even if she was hotter than Firestar's hot bits. He barely can admit it to himself most of the time and he just tries not to think about it because if he did - if he just thought about the consequences and what it all actually meant - then the fear- the terror would surely drive him mad.

_----------------------- _

"Dude will you stop looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like I just grew another head. I know what you're thinkin' but I had no choice. That son of a bitch was gonna kill you."

"Yeah Sammy I know that - got the finger prints on my neck to prove it, see?"

"Well then what is your problem?"

Deans sits up on his bed and squints a little at his younger sibling and wonders if he really should be saying this.

"Why Casey? Why d'you have to kill her?"

"Dean she was a _demon!_"

"Oh, so it's alright for you to hang out with demon girl Ruby, but as soon as I wanna show a little compassion the rules change."

"_What_?"

Sam throws his hands out to the side and screws his face up in a way that is pure Sam.

"She tried to save my life Sam. You didn't have to shoot her."

"Yes, Dean I did."

Dean looks away momentarily and sighs before turning back to his brother keeping his voice low, calm and trying his hardest not sound accusing.

"What's goin' on with you Sam? I mean this whole ruthless, 'this is war' thing you're doing - it isn't you, and it doesn't suit you - talk to me, tell me what's goin' on?"

Sam huffs and walks across the room to look out of the window.

"There's nothin' to talk about Dean. In case you didn't notice I was trying to stop you from taking an early flight to hell. You do remember hell don't you?"

"Sam..."

He turns back round to face the older man.

"Look just because you're ready to throw in the towel, don't expect me to. I'm not just gonna stand by and watch you _die." _

Dean stands and takes a step forward his irritation and anxiety increasing a notch.

"That's not what I'm talkin' about Sam and you know it. I'm talkin about this new and improved, take no shit thing you're tryin' to pull off. You're pissed all the time, you snap, you bite my head off..."

"Pissed all the time? Pissed? Yeah, I'm pissed and why do you think that is huh Dean?"

"And how long are you gonna be pissed for Sam, the whole year or you gonna keep it up long after I bite the dust."

Sam takes a step closer to his brother, fury burning behind his eyes his skin tingling and Dean pretends not to notice the clenched fist at his side.

"Go ahead Sam, take a shot if it'll make you feel better - I mean that would be fitting with your new image right?"

Sam grabs Dean's jacket and stops just short of raising his fist but Dean still flinches and Sam swears he sees a hint of fear in his eyes and he's not all that sure how that makes him feel.

"I thought we weren't gonna do this Sammy? I thought we were done fighting. We only got a year man."

Sam pushes his brother away and his eyes flicker slightly his brow twitching.

"You're done fighting, not me."

He pushes past Dean then and out of the room and he swears he hears the sound of the space between them crack, a long fracture stretching the distance from one to the other but he doesn't turn, doesn't falter just continues on his path, down the corridor, away from the room, away from his brother.

------------------

He wonders when it was that Sammy started lying to him. He's always been one for keeping things to himself but there have been times when Sam has actually lied to him and he's pretty sure he knows when those times were. There had been something that yellow eyes - Azazel had told him which he had chosen to keep to himself he was sure of that, but then he's guilty of that himself but he figures he's justified. It's not like he can go: "So Sammy, the Yellow eyed Demon told me that you may not have come back 100 percent you and that you could still turn evil even after all this shit we've been through so hey, you got anything that you wanna share?"

Some things are definitely best left unspoken and besides, Bobby was probably right. Demon's lie which is why he refuses to trust that Ruby chick. Speaking of her he's pretty sure that there was something else that Sammy didn't mention about her too. It's not just that though it's everything else. Sam seems to be able to lie to Dean practically every day and some days he feels like he doesn't even know what's real and what's truth anymore and sometimes he thinks that maybe he is losing his little brother as he becomes even further detached from the man he remembers. He hasn't failed to notice that he calls him Sammy a lot more these days. It's almost as if he's trying to convince himself that his baby brother is still in there, almost like if he keeps using the childhood nickname then Sammy will come back to him just as before and then maybe he will be able to trust him with all these secrets and lies that he obviously thinks Dean can't handle.

He hadn't expected his last year to be like this. He wants it to be fun, carefree and he wants them to make the most of what they have and he wants them to be brothers again because it's all he has, but this - seeing his brother slip further and further away from him, because whatever secrets he's holding he seems unable to share them, it's a slow death. It's a death that's tearing them apart.

-------------------

All these years and he still doesn't get it. Dean doesn't get that Sam will do anything, sacrifice anything, do anything, lie, live die or kill for him and nothing, _nothing_ will ever come in the way of saving him. He doesn't know how yet, he has a few ideas and he has a few avenues still to explore but one thing he is certain of is that whatever he has to do, whatever it takes and however out of character Dean thinks he is or however morally questionable his actions he is going to find a way. He made a promise to Dean at the cemetery and he intends to keep it.

_"You're my big brother and there's** nothing** I wouldn't do for you." _

He never said there's nothing I wouldn't do as long as it's legal, or there's nothing I wouldn't do as long as I still get to keep my holier than thou image, or there's nothing I wouldn't do as long as it doesn't involve the killing of innocent people, he had said that there was nothing he wouldn't do as in nothing, nada, squat. Ruby had been right he is going to have to do things that go against his nature but right now he really doesn't give a shit because his brother sacrificed his soul for him so the least he can do is return the favour. Of course he doesn't like it, that's the difference between him and say Gordon fucking Walker because unlike that sorry son of a bitch he has a conscience and he has no intention of going dark side and even if old yellow eyes was still breathing sulphur he knows that it would never happen but if saving his brother means that he may have to tarnish his soul and his conscience a little, do questionable things, break his own rules then so be it because saving Dean is the only damn thing that matters to him now and he thinks that he would just about sacrifice anyone for him and if that makes him a bad person then he guesses he'll just have to be bad for a while.

--------------------

The next day the argument is forgotten and the discomfort gone and Dean can almost pretend that everything is back to normal. He lies half asleep on the bed and Sam sits at the table with his lap top and Dean can hear his fingers tapping away at the keyboard.

"You and that thing want some privacy?"

Sam looks up having not really heard what Dean said.

"Huh?"

"You and the lap top. I mean you make a great couple, Sam really, but you know maybe the two of you should get a room?"

Sam looks a little flustered and annoyed slamming the lap top shut with a huff.

"I was just emailing someone. An old friend. From college."

Dean raises an eyebrow at the odd expression on his little brother's face.

"Ooookay then." he shuts his eyes.

Sam's tone changes. Turns light and conversational which to Dean sounds even odder.

"Yeah we were um talkin' about one of our old tutors apparently he ran off with um one of his um male students and now they plan to marry."

Dean's eyes open again his brow furrowed.

"You ok, Sam?"

Sam huffs again and turns his eyes heavenwards.

"Yes Dean I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?"

"Cos you're acting a little odd Sammy, even for you."

"No I'm not." Sam gets up obviously irritated and Dean's too tired to try and figure out why so he closes his eyes again and listens to the sounds of his brother pottering around the bathroom and allows himself to doze. He hears water running and then the toilet flushing and then more water and then the door opens and closes and he hears Sam's footsteps pad over to the bed he's laying on but he doesn't open his eyes.

"So you gonna sleep all day?"

"Yeah you got a problem with that?"

"No I was just, well that college friend I was emailing, he's got a place out here with his girlfriend and I was thinking of paying them a visit? I mean you're welcome to come..."

"You want me to come?"

"It's up to you; I mean they're really into discussing politics and stuff..."

Dean opens his eyes and pulls a face.

"Thanks Sammy, but I think I'll just hang out here if it's all the same to you."

Sam nods smiling a little.

"No problem."

Then something twitches in Dean's brain and he opens his eyes and sits up eyeing Sam mischievously.

"You're meeting a girl aren't ya?"

Sam's face screws up.

"_What_?"

"I knew it."

"I'm not meeting a girl."

He turns his back on his brother and starts shoving pointless items into a duffle bag.

"You so are meeting a girl, you little sneak. I knew you were up to something, come on Sammy you can't get anythin' past me I'm your brother."

"I'm not meeting a girl; I told you it's just some friends from college."

"Sure Sammy."

Sam faces his brother and zips up his bag.

"Look, I erm gotta go."

"What you meeting her - I mean _them_ now?"

"Yeah, well it's a long bus ride."

"You wanna take the car? It'll be quicker - then you can hang out here with your big brother for a while."

"Thought you were gonna sleep, besides I don't mind taking the bus."

"You want a lift to the station."

"No, no I'm good, it's not far. Think I'll walk."

Dean frowns momentarily then winks at Sam and Sam rolls his eyes before turning for the door.

"Be good Sammy."

"Dude, it's just some old friend."

"And if you can't be good be careful."

"_**Dean!**_"

"Oh and don't forget to check for possession. Sex with demons is just plain wrong."

"Dude knock it off."

"I'm serious dude. Watch your back."

"Okaaay. Later."

The haste at which Sam seemed to want to get away from Dean doesn't go unnoticed but he ignores it. Ignores it because he doesn't really want to think about it right now. Besides he's sure it's because Sammy's meeting a girl and not because he finds the idea of spending time with his brother uncomfortable or unpleasant or a chore. He lets the worries and doubts slip away and allows his mind to be pulled blissfully into sleep.

------------------------------------

Dean's back on the road again and it's night time again and it's still cold but in an unpleasant way this time and he doesn't feel at peace just troubled and frustrated and irritated. He thinks about Sam and why something just doesn't feel right and why he can't help but fear the worst. Sam's fine Sam's fine Sam's fine. He says it over and over like a mantra hoping if he says it enough times it will be true but then he hears her laughter cutting through him like a shard of ice.

"What do you want you bitch?!"

He turns around and she's there, red eyes flashing at him and in an instant she's in front of him close enough to kiss, close enough to smell her hair.

"Dean, we gotta stop meeting like this."

Dean shrugs sneering in contempt.

"Suits me."

She frowns almost sympathetically at him her face twisting pityingly.

"Poor, poor Dean, you really don't have a clue do you?"

"You gate crashing my beauty sleep for any particular reason sweetheart or is it just to piss me off?"

"Is that anyway to talk to a lady?"

Dean smirks disgusted.

"Lady - yeah, right."

"Thing is Dean, I got a little problem. Your pain in the ass little brother."

"What about him?"

She plays with her hair and purrs teasingly into his ear.

"It hurts my feelings, Dean; I thought we had a deal."

"We do and don't worry, Sam understands the terms so how about you get your demonic, sulphurous ass the hell out of my dream."

She shakes her head circling him.

"Dean, sweetie, you may be stunningly beautiful but you're not all that bright are you?"

She stops at his right side but he doesn't look at her.

"Did you really think little Sammy was gonna let it go. Even as we speak he's plotting to get your cute little butt out of the deal."

"You're wrong."

She continues to circle him.

"Not wrong sugar. Just right."

She stops abruptly right in front of him and leans in close. Her tone changes the seductive, chocolate drawl replaced by a vicious hiss.

"Your little brother is really starting to piss me off, _**Dean**_. Did I not make myself clear? I strongly suggest you get him to back off or he'll be back to rotting meat before you can say deal - or _**no**_ deal."

She cocks her head to the side and smiles at him her eyes flashing red before whispering.

"Time to wake up."

Deans sits up gasping this time once again his clothes damp with sweat and he nearly falls off the bed as he sees the lap top still placed on the table and he scrambles desperately over to it, flips it open and stares wide eyed at the screen the words seeming jumbled and nonsensical his vision swimming, panic gripping his gut. He takes a breath forcing himself to calm down, wipes at his eyes and reads the messages one more time. The words mock him, laugh at him, remind him of how little he knows his brother these days, how they're drifting apart, the lies between them driving them to opposite ends of the earth and they berate him for not recognising the signs, for not guessing that this path was always a natural course for Sam and was ultimately inevitable.

And then it hit him. Sam had lied to him and he hadn't even noticed.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks for the comments lovely peoples hope you enjoy.

**Chapter 3**

Unity looks at her self in the mirror for the sixth time that morning just to see, just to check. Her eyes have been green for several years now but she still likes to check just to be sure. She doesn't need to check her hair because she has none. It had disappeared some short time after the colour in her eyes had returned. She got the colour back but lost her hair. She hasn't lost the memories; she has kept all of those. She still has nightmares too, because if you have seen Hell, how can you not?

The metal that now rests in her ears, her eyebrow, her nose and her lip have transformed her appearance since those days which can only be a good thing because during those days she did so many bad things. That's not why she put them there though. When she had awoken she had wanted to feel something other than hatred for herself. She had wanted to hurt herself without killing herself because dying for her would have been too merciful and she deserved no mercy. The holes in her face had hurt but not enough so she visited numerous artists with needles and persuaded them to inject ink under the surface of her skin creating images of death and pain so as to be a constant reminder of the things she had done.

It hadn't been enough though and she had developed a tolerance for the pain. Penance it had seemed would be harder than mere self harm and physical pain and so she had dedicated her life to a cause. She couldn't hurt anyone anymore because the evil had left her - left her empty and broken but left her all the same. She had decided however that she could help and the priest had shown her how. He had helped her to stop hating herself, helped her to find peace and he had helped her learn that forgiving herself was something she would have to do each and every day.

These days she no longer needs to hurt herself because she understands better now. Thanks to the kindness of two strangers she had been set free of the evil and thanks to a man of God who she never really believed in she has finally stopped hating herself. Now she pays her debt through consultation, through research, through knowledge and through information. Knowledge is power and these people need all the power they can get. If she can provide someone with knowledge then maybe someone won't have to suffer like she did and like all the people who she was forced to make suffer.

As for God she still has her doubts. She used to ask the priest where God had been hiding when she was committing her unforgivable acts. Where was God for the innocents who suffered at her hands? But now she thinks that if such an uncontrollable evil exits then surely there must be a flip side. She feels the goodness within her, the opposite of what she had become and knows she could never go back.

But she still checks her eyes just to be sure.

_"Hello, can you help me?"_

_"I can try, what do you need?"_

_"Is there something I can do for you?"_

_"Tell me what it feels like."_

_"It's simple really you just need..."_

_"Do you believe in ghosts?"_

_"There are forces that you shouldn't mess with."_

_"It's too late."_

_"It's never too late there's always an answer."_

---------

"Hey bitch how's things?"

"I missed you little girl, where've you been?"

"Been a little crazy. Did you hear what happened?"

"They opened it didn't they? They finally did it?"

"They had help. It was all planned. Mom said they tried but...what's done is done now and we'll just have to deal with it."

"And the hired help? They're all dead?"

"I told you they weren't bad people just... anyway they're not _all_ dead. One survived."

"But I heard they were all killed."

"Yeah... well technically he was. That's what I was calling you about."

"And I thought you were calling just to say hi."

"Hey, you know I love you. Thing is I know him. You know of him too. He's a good guy. His dad knew Mom and well it's not like we owe them but we need them on our side right now."

"Them?"

"Yeah that's the problem. His ass of a brother. He's _such_ a jerk ahhh anyway, we shouldn't talk about this over the phone. All I can say is he has a problem that you may be able to help him with and if you can... much as it pains me to say it, you really should. Look I gotta go; I'm sending you his email. I'll call you soon."

----------------------

Is there something I can do for you?

Who are you?

Someone who might be able to help. I heard you could use it.

How did you get this address?

Ha, dude I'm sorry, I can't help it, it's like - involuntary, I just love these dramatic mysterious intros, don't you? Call Jo Harvelle then we'll talk.

----------------------

_The third was Sammy. He hadn't seen it coming but he'd had a bad feeling for a while. There was no one who knew his little brother like he did and something was definitely up. He was moodier than ever. He snapped a lot and it seemed like he would deliberately pick a fight as if he was trying his best to build a wall between himself and his family. He talked about how hunting wasn't for him and challenged their Dad on whether it was an appropriate life style choice for someone who abhorred violence and just wanted a normal family life. He screwed up a lot during the hunts, making mistakes that seemed almost deliberate and often seemed to be daring their father to kick him off the job._

_And then there were days when Sam would be unnaturally pleasant towards Dean. He would laugh louder at his piss poor jokes, offer to do stuff for him and he would say things which, as Winchesters, they weren't supposed to say. It concerned him in that he knew deep down that there was something other than teenage angst going on, but he had no idea what and he was totally unprepared for the bombshell that was about to be dropped on him. The bombshell that would blow the foundations of his world right from under him._

_"Hey Dean."_

_"Hey yourself."_

_"Want another beer?"_

_"Nah, I'm good."_

_Dean held up a bottle of cheap beer that was still half full and then turned back to look out at the night sky. Sam settled next to him on the front step. It should have felt normal, comfortable, safe even but somehow it didn't. Somehow Dean sensed something unfamiliar between them, a prickling static in the air that made him uneasy. They sat in silence like they often did but there was nothing companionable about it. It was uncomfortable, awkward as if one was waiting for the other to speak unsure of what to say themselves. It was Dean who eventually spoke, because he was the oldest and that was generally how it worked._

_"Come on then out with it."_

_He took a swig of his beer preparing himself for the fallout._

_"What?"_

_Sam smiled and looked bemused which happened to be the most faked look of bemusement Dean had ever seen._

_"Spit it out."_

_"Spit what out?"_

_"Whatever it is that's buzzing around in that freaky head of yours, Sammy."_

_"It's Sam."_

_"Whatever. Now you gonna tell me what's up or do I have to torture it out of you."_

_"Dude you couldn't torture your way out of a brown paper bag."_

_"I could kick your ass any day of the week princess."_

_"Yeah in your dreams pip squeak."_

_"Pip **what**?"_

_"Pip. Squeak. It's in reference to your height, or rather lack of it."_

_"There's nothing wrong with my height you little bitch. Although I can see how you would think that, what with you resembling the Magic Faraway Tree."_

_"The magic what?"_

_Sam's eyebrows shot up in amusement._

_"The Magic Faraway Tree. What you never read Enid Blyton?"_

_Dean gave him a patronising frown which Sam returned with a look of disgust and disbelief._

_"No. I didn't. Why did you?"_

_Dean looked away the discomfort obvious._

_"Course not, just... I heard..."_

_Sam's eyebrows shot up again, waiting and Dean pulled a face._

_"Shut up."_

_Sam laughed his high pitched laugh and Dean called him a girl and it seemed the awkwardness between them had never existed but then Sam went and spoiled it._

_"Listen Dean, I know I can be a pain in the ass sometimes and I know we don't always get on..."_

_"What you talkin' about we always get on."_

_Sam grinned._

_"Yeah right. Anyways I just wanted you to know, that well you know whatever happens in the future, you'll always be my big brother and well...you know."_

_"Dude if you say what I think you're gonna say then I will have to kill you. Then myself."_

_Sam laughed again shaking his head._

_"Don't worry, I wasn't gonna go there."_

_"So what's all this about."_

_"Nothin' just um wanted you to know."_

_And Dean knew. Somehow he knew that very soon something was going to happen and it wasn't going to be good._

_"Uh huh..."_

_Dean eyed him suspiciously but let the matter drop. Something he would regret long after Sammy walked out on him the following day, adding another crack in his already damaged soul._

_----------------------------_

Alfie's Diner is a nice place she thinks. Very normal, very American. It's full of happy people, obese parents and their rapidly ballooning kids and tired hung over people and the occasional freak show. She taps her azure blue finger nails on the table absently, swirling the coffee around the mug with her other hand. She's a little nervous which is unlike her, but her latest client sounds much more fascinating than her usual customers. Jo wouldn't tell her much because Jo can be a little paranoid at times and is convinced that demons have nothing better to do than to bug her phone and listen in on conversations. It's a trait she finds endearing and makes her smile but she says nothing because there's no harm in being cautious.

She had embarrassed herself a little because she had begged Jo mercilessly to tell her more. She had already heard about him. Heard that he was one of them. The Mutant Army she always called them and she had done a fair bit of research and was well aware of the dangers and the plans that were in place. But Jo had said that this guy was special. The one who survived. She hasn't been able to find out the full story on what happened to the group of psychics but she knows that they were all killed. Except one it now seems. But he was killed she is sure of that and Jo had confirmed the fact so how can it be that she is meeting him in a diner in less than half an hour.

She's intrigued, excited and terrified because she can think of only a few possible explanations and neither of them are good. She glances at the door for the twentieth time wishing he would hurry up so that she could be put out of her misery. It's unfair to keep her waiting like this; waiting was never one of her strong points, even before and she freely admits that she has the attention span of a three year old.

She heaves another sigh and takes a gulp of the now cold coffee but she doesn't mind because she prefers it cold. A waitress with brown hair and pretty eyes offers her a refill and she smiles her acceptance before a creak and a bang make her look towards the door to see an exceptionally tall young man enter the diner his brown hair flopping around his eyes and she grins and sits up in her seat like an excited child because this has to be him.

------------------------

Dean is somewhat pissed. There are a whole number of reasons for which he is pissed but they keep changing their order of importance in his head. First he was pissed because he realised Sam lied to him, then he was pissed because he realised that he hadn't noticed, then he was pissed when he realised what his brother was up to and he was pissed with Jo fucking Harvelle too because it was all her fault, then he stopped being pissed at her because he figured she was just trying to help and didn't know the full story, so then he was pissed at the fact that he had to get up and go find his pain in the ass little brother and drag his sorry butt back to the motel and kick it.

Right now though he is pissed because he is lost. Again. He has had to ask for directions twice now which also pisses him off especially as both the man and woman who he had so politely asked for help had sent him in the opposite direction to where he needed to be and those traffic lights that have just changed? They are pissing him off too. What really pisses him off though is the fact that Sam will now arrive at the diner before him, which basically ruins his plan of already being there waiting. He had planned it all out in his head. Sam would show up and Dean would be stood there looking smug but furious and Sam would shit himself and then Dean would grab him by the scruff of the neck and bundle him into the car and they would drive back to the motel where Dean would then beat the crap out of him.

He had been really looking forward to it but that isn't going to happen now thanks to the Map of Lies, Mr I Wouldn't Be Able to Find My Way To The Can If You Left Me A Trail Of Breadcrumbs, and Miss Completely Useless Directions But Hey Thanks For Ruining My Day.

So yes Dean Winchester is pissed and he figures he has every right to be.

------------------------

"So, you must be the boy who lived."

The first thing she thinks is 'tall and scary looking' but then he laughs at her dumb comment and his entire face lights up his eyes sparkling and her heart practically turns to mush.

"Yeah, and you must be Unity."

"What gave me away, the nose ring or the lack of hair?"

He laughs again before sitting down opposite her and she practically has to shut her own mouth with her hand. She had expected someone moody and dark, serious, strong and imposing, but the man sat in front of her is little more than a boy and so unbelievably cute and adorably childlike she's taken off guard and can't remember what it is she's supposed to say. So she doesn't she just stares at him a while and he looks back at her probably a little puzzled or scared but he's still smiling.

"I'm Sam, um thanks for meeting me."

"Sorry what?"

He laughs again, so cute.

"Sam. My name?"

"Right, of course. It's a pleasure to meet you Sam."

She forces herself to get a grip and holds out her hand for him to shake before taking a sip of her coffee.

"So, how may I be of service?"

She wishes she'd picked a better choice of phrase but Sam doesn't seem to notice the double meaning so she goes with it. She props her head on her hand and taps the nails of the other on the table not taking her eyes of him as he talks. She's engrossed in his tale, almost hypnotised by it's extremes and sadness and sorrow but she's moved by the intense bond he seems to share with the brother who he is trying to help.

She listens to him talk of the mother he never knew, how he may be responsible for her death, but he doesn't say how, of the evil that destroyed his family, of the brother that practically raised him, who he would gladly die for, of the father who he never had the chance to be a son to, whom he misses so much sometimes he thinks he might die.

He tells her of a woman he loved, a woman he would have married, raised a family with but because of him was doomed to the same fate as his mother. He tells her of the burden his father placed on his brother, of his dark destiny and his brother's promise to save him.

She thinks to herself as he practically shares his life story with her that you really couldn't make this shit up and has to use all her self control not to appear shocked or horrified. Then he comes to the punch line and she can feel her stomach tensing as if she's watching a horror movie and the ending is about to reveal it's secret. She grips her coffee cup now with both hands not realising her knuckles are white but she has noticed that the boy's eyes have dropped to the table and he won't look at her. His voice goes a little odd too and he seems to be having trouble getting out his words but when he finally does she swears her stomach falls right out of her body and on to the floor.

"And that's about it."

He looks up briefly then, which is just enough time for her to see the tears in his eyes and without thinking she reaches her hand across the table and places it on his which seems to make him flinch a little. He looks back up again blinking really fast and then moves his hand, the one she's holding to wipe at his eyes.

"I'm sorry."

She shakes her head not sure why he's apologising.

"A Crossroad Deal." She says it quietly, confirming it to herself sadly, her heart breaking for the man in front of her, the boy who's soon to be the only surviving member of his family.

"Sam, when Jo told me you cheated death I figured your brother must have used some ancient spell or something, but a Crossroad Deal? I don't even know if there's a way out of that."

"There has to be."

"Sam..."

"I promised him. I promised I would save him like he saved me so many times. I have to - failure isn't an option."

He looks so determined, so fierce she feels wary of contradicting him. She bites on her lip and avoids his eyes.

"Sam..."

"Jo said if there was a way you'd find it, I don't care what the cost..."

She forces herself to look at him then, to make him face the truth because someone has to.

"Sam, listen. Did Jo tell you how I got into all this?"

He shakes his head looking away.

"I was just a kid you know. I had no idea what was happening to me. I couldn't control what I did. It was like I was trapped inside my own body but every time I looked in the mirror my eyes would go white."

Sam frowns.

"You were possessed?"

"That's what they told me after. These two guys exorcised it and took me to this priest who helped me get back on my feet. But not before...I did some real bad shit Sam. Stuff that would give you nightmares. People think I'm vain cos I'm always looking in the mirror, but truth is I just wanna make sure I'm still me."

He nods sympathetically.

"You said your eyes went white? Never heard of one of those."

"Not many of them around these days. They're an ancient breed. Lower in rank to the One With Yellow Eyes but pretty nasty all the same."

Sam's eyebrows shoot up in what she assumes is surprise and she can't help feel a little proud, smug even, because he's obviously impressed.

"The Yellow Eyed Demon? You know about him?"

"Sam, please it's my job. He's the one that killed your family right?"

He nods frowning a little.

"Yeah."

"I must admit a lot of things are falling into place. I mean I knew about him, knew about his army but there were so many missing pieces. It's weird, you know, finally meeting you after hearing so much. I gotta tell you Sam you're not exactly how I imagined."

He smirks a little.

"Is that a good thing?"

She nods at him grinning.

"Definitely. Getting yourself possessed can kind of leave you a little prejudiced. You think everything's black and white, good and evil, but sometimes it's not always that simple."

"Yeah well I never asked for any of this you know. Being the leader of an army of demons wasn't exactly on my list of priorities."

She smiles at him again finding it hard to believe she's actually sat opposite this man who she had heard so much about. She had built up so many expectations about him and not one of them comes anywhere near close. She hadn't expected the good humour, the soft smile and gentle eyes, the honesty, the warmth that he seemed to just leak through every pore and the obvious and unrelenting love he so clearly had for his family. For his brother.

She realises she's been gazing at him for an inappropriate length of time so she blinks and tries to remember what point she was trying to make.

"Anyway, back to the matter in question. This demon, I guess it wanted to have some fun; lucky me huh? And the things it made me do...the best part was it let me watch. I remember everything Sam. Every little thing. That bastard was inside me for years until those hunters exorcised it. I was a mess I gotta tell you. I was into all sorts, drugs booze, self harm, but this priest guy showed me that I could pay my debt in other more productive ways. So now instead of putting holes in myself I hack databases for classified information, I research the unresearchable, I find intel that others can't and I have an awful lot of shit left in here from what that thing showed me and Sam you should know that I never, ever heard of a loophole for a Crossroad Deal."

She holds his gaze for a few seconds trying to convey sympathy but he looks away obviously dejected, the devastation apparent in his soft hazel eyes.

"So you can't help me?"

She winces finding his torment hard to endure and wishes she could take it all back but she knows he needs the truth even if it's tearing him apart.

"I didn't say that. Even now some things still surprise me and I will try for you but you shouldn't get your hopes up, Sam. You may have to face the fact that you need to look into other ways to save your brother."

"Other ways?"

He looks hopeful again and it's killing her that she has to knock him down a second time. She shakes her head sadly.

"You're not supposed to be here Sam. A person is in the world that shouldn't be and that balance has to be redressed. You live, your brother dies and if you really want to save him then you may have to accept that the only way is to set things back how they were."

"You mean...I would have to die?"

She nods, wincing again, hating what she is doing to him. He looks at the table his hands fidgeting and he looks so lost and young and she so badly wants to take care of him.

"I'd do it in a heart beat but, I just...I know what it would do to him, I'm not sure I could..."

She takes his hand again squeezing it in what she hopes is at least a slightly comforting gesture.

"Your brother will be heartbroken sure, but at least he'll have his soul. It can't be worse than an eternity in Hell right?"

Sam opens his mouth to answer but there seems to be something going on at the front of the diner. They both look to see some dude yelling and stomping around and he seems to be asking in a very loud voice if they have spam but he doesn't sound too happy about it. Unity thinks that maybe the poor boy isn't quite all there until Sam turns back round wincing.

"Oh crap."

He slouches down in his seat scrunching his head into his shoulders apparently trying to make himself shorter which Unity thinks is highly amusing. The smile disappears however when she sees the man storming towards their table with what can only be described as purpose.

She pulls a face at Sam asking the question to which she has already guessed the answer.

"And that would be..."

Sam pulls a face very similar to her own and squeaks out his response.

"My brother."

She nods repeating his words just as confirmation.

"Your brother."

She grimaces.

"Crap."

TBC

Sorry it's shorter than usual but this seemed like an appropriate place to end. Will try to update soon. Also sorry if it stinks I'm having issues with this story.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Thank you for your comments. Hope you like. It's still doing my head in but I'm getting there... **_

_**Contains brief amount of non graphic violence. **_

**Chapter 4**

There are moments in life that change everything. Tiny, supposed insignificant decisions that at the time don't seem to matter all that much until some time in the future you look back and recognise it as that point in your past that set about the chain of events that brought you here. An event so seemingly trivial you give it little thought, oblivious to the ripples, the shock waves, the currents of energy that course through space and time connecting what would otherwise never be joined. The sparks that bring people together either for good or for ill, the lines of lightning which create miracles, bring about impossible situations and result in events of such magnitude, it seems that it was by design rather than chance. What at first seems chaotic now appears to be pre-determined but by whom you cannot fathom. And you don't see the consequences of your actions, the devastating results of all the things that you've done until it is far too late.

-------------------------

Unity is impressed. Her eyes trail up and down the form of the man who has appeared before her; her eyes fluttering in mock flirtation hoping and failing to defuse the incredibly charged and volatile situation that she's found herself in. She doesn't realise she's subconsciously positioned herself in front of Sam, effectively shielding him from the crazed maniac that has just arrived at their table. She can't help but feel attracted to him, even if he is really pissing her off with his alpha male bullshit, but she never did go for nice boys - not since she was changed anyway.

She observes him as he carries out his own assessment of her and she's only a little disappointed to see that he's unimpressed, the harsh glare apparently intended to make her back away, step down, shrink under his powerful presence but shrinking is not what Unity is or does. Unity doesn't back away or step down and she doesn't quit and neither, apparently does he.

"Get out of my way, lady."

A charmer, as well she thinks but at least he didn't call her 'bitch'.

"My name's not 'lady' hon, but good try."

"Unity, it's fine really."

She's interrupted by Sam's gentle and diplomatic voice from behind her and realises for the first time that she's placed herself between the two men, the two alleged brothers and she wonders how the hell these two got to be related. Moving to the side, she reluctantly clears the way for Sam but doesn't take her eyes off Caveman Guy, studying him carefully her lip twitching at the corner.

"Let me guess, you're the adopted one who they kept chained up in the attic with only fish heads to feed on."

His face pinches a little but he turns away from her to look down at his brother as Sam looks back up at him, something he doesn't get to do all that often she thinks smirking to herself.

"Dude, would you chill? We were just talking."

"In the car Sam. Now."

"Geez, sugar, who died and made you dad?"

She instantly gulps realising what she has just said. Sam winces and Crazed Maniac just turns an icy glare on her and she feels about an inch tall and doesn't really feel like providing a comeback to his latest put down.

"In case you hadn't noticed sweetheart, I'm trying to have a conversation with my brother, so you think you could, uhh I dunno..._shut up_?"

Ok, she thinks, so he's a smart ass. Big deal. In her opinion though that still doesn't give him any right to interrupt their meeting and act like a prize asshole and at this moment in time she is racking her brains for any plausible reason why anyone would want to do anything to help this dick. He's standing there fuming, with this really unbecoming scowl on his admittedly lovely features, making a complete prick of himself not to mention his brother, and she's obviously supposed to be floored, intimidated even by his ridiculous performance of I Am Man Hear Me Roar.

She says nothing though just offers him a smirk that she hopes conveys her disdain before holding up her hands, conceding and stepping back. She reminds herself that Sam's a big boy, a very big boy come to think of it and she's pretty sure that he can fight his own battles.

"Dean, would you just..."

"I said in the car Sam, and I'm not gonna tell you again."

"Sam, what? You just gonna let him boss you around like some snot nosed little kid?"

The outburst was involuntary, a knee jerk reaction - she'd given Resurrection Guy more credit than that but she can't help flinch at her lack of self control especially when Angry Thug turns to her again.

"Actually, yes he is."

He turns his glare back on his brother again who looks away sheepishly and she feels so awful for him. She wants him to stand up for himself, to tell his asshole of a brother where he can stick his orders but just when she thinks it's all over Sam surprises her once again.

"You know what Dean? I'm not going anywhere."

Sam stands up now and she sees the height difference and is a little amused by it but also puzzled. The older of the two is quite clearly a bully she thinks and has somehow managed to keep his younger brother in fear of him his whole life but she can't figure out how, when he is obviously a good few inches taller and could probably kick the shorter one's ass any day of the week. Neither of the two men seems intimidated or afraid of the other however which doesn't seem to uphold her theory. They're both eyeballing each other, both are pissed and she swears they're going to start circling any minute.

Dean seems at a loss at what to say, she reckons he hasn't had to deal with this side of his brother before, used to him obeying and running along maybe and he obviously isn't all that bright. He opens his mouth to say something, then seems to think better of it and just as she's considering jumping in the air cheerleader style and yelling "Go Sam!" Meathead Man does the unthinkable.

She watches open mouthed, horrified and embarrassed as the older yet shorter of the two grabs the other one by the back of his jacket, yanks him about and proceeds to march him out of the diner, his protests and struggles ignored.

They're half way down the diner before she can snap herself out of shock and get her voice to work.

"Sam! What the hell?!"

He twists his head around in response and manages to call back to her.

"I'm sorry, I'll call you."

Thug, however disagrees.

"No you won't."

She's still standing there with her jaw slack long after they've left the diner and suddenly she realises that everyone is staring at her. She blinks then coughs with embarrassment before sitting down to hide behind her mug of coffee only to find it empty but then the waitress with the pretty eyes sidles up to her table smiling sympathetically at her. She refills the mug and Unity smiles and nods back her gratitude and is rewarded with a cheeky wink.

"They both yours?"

The waitress nods her head towards the window.

"What? Er, hell...no. I um..."

"Bit of a handful huh?"

"Erm yeah. I... you could say that."

The waitress smiles and shakes her head while looking out of the window at the two brothers, one of whom is trying to force the other one into a black Chevy Impala.

"I wouldn't mind taking either of those two on."

She smiles again at Unity again before leaving her to her thoughts and Unity watches her leave, a little unsure of how she feels right now.

---------------------------------

"Dude, what the hell is your problem?"

Sam pushes his brother away after his second attempt to manhandle him into the car.

"You lied to me Sam."

"Yeah, well you didn't leave me much of a choice, Dean."

"You're not doing this Sam, I don't care who this chick is or what she can do, but you call her again you're gonna have me to deal with."

"Uh huh, right. And what are you gonna do Dean? Beat me up? Call Dad? Oh wait you can't do that he's dead."

He regrets it as soon as the words have been heard and he's not sure what makes him wince first, the realisation of what he's just said or the violent shove his brother deals him smashing his back painfully into the side of the car.

"Dean - Dean I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

Dean eyeballs him incensed and obviously hurt and Sam stares back his eyes wide with fear and regret.

"Dude, I'm sorry I don't know why I said that."

And he doesn't. He has no idea why he would say that other than the obvious reason to hurt and rile his brother. Something he seems to be getting really good at these days. When they're not hunting all they seem to do is piss each other off and he can't understand why it has to be like this. He takes a breath and tries to calm the anger inside of him so just maybe he and Dean can have an adult conversation without yelling at each other, without hurting each other and without it ending in unresolved anger, bitterness and resentment. Dean however isn't in an adult conversation kind of mood it seems, and unfairly - in Sam's opinion - takes advantage of his brother's withdrawal from conflict and hauls him forward before bundling him into the car. He barks a single order at him before slamming the door shut.

"You move from this spot I will bust your ass you hear me?!"

Sam's jaw twitches and he looks away frowning. Dean notices that it's definitely a frown on his little brother's features and not the usual trademark scowl that he had seen so many times. It isn't the petulant scowl of a moody little brother who knows he's in the wrong, but the frown of someone who has just been publicly humiliated and is maybe considering his options. Considering the possibility that his brother is an ass and isn't worth the hassle, considering walking away from the whole mess and being done with it all and who could blame him. Maybe deep down that's all he wants, to be done with it all because maybe it would be a relief to free of all this. He feels a stab of guilt and winces despite himself and wonders what the hell happened to his baby brother. The one who looked up to him, the on who held on his every word, the one who would accept whatever he said simply because it was Dean that had said it. Most of all though, he wonders what's happening to him.

----------------------------

_"Sammy, come on." _

_"I'm not talking to you Dean." _

_"Well guess what genius you just did." _

_"Go away." _

_"Dude, it was just a joke. Can't you take a joke?" _

_He got the scowl turned on him. The scowl that generally said "you're a jerk and I'm not forgiving you this time." but it only ever made him more determined. Especially as the scowl wasn't nearly as convincing as it would have been had Sam been using both his eyebrows. Unfortunately for Sam, using both wasn't an option as the left one had gone AWOL. _

_"Come on, dude, it'll grow back." _

_"I have a date tomorrow Dean!" _

_Dean laughed. _

_"A date? You're what, thirteen? Where you gonna take her the candy store?" _

_"Bite me."_

_"Sammy, you're too young to be worrying about girls. Besides if she only loves you for your eyebrows then she's not worth it." _

_"I hate you." _

_Dean chuckled. _

_"Yeah, I know you do." _

_--------------------------- _

She was just starting to calm down again when she heard the door creak and looked up to see Angry Bulldog once again storming towards her and once again with Purpose. She gulps down the remainder of her coffee in preparation for an attack and gets to her feet adopting a position of defence. She pastes on her best 'now you're just pissing me off ' face and folds her arms, watching the evolutionary anomaly get closer to her, hoping that he won't notice the fact that she's several inches shorter than him.

"_**What**_?!"

She spits out the first word before he has a chance to speak and he does that thing with his mouth again trying to think of something to say and she thinks that it's almost quite cute but then reminds herself that she's supposed to be mad at him. She feels a little of the anger diminish as he scrubs a hand across his face, breathing in deeply, obviously trying to get a hold on his own temper and she mentally gives him another point for at least trying to act like a member of a civilised and evolved race.

"Look, sweetheart..."

"Unity."

"Whatever. I get it that you're just trying to help, but you don't know what you're messing with."

"You sold your soul to a demon to save your brothers life and now you're scared that if Sam tries to get you out of it he'll die."

She speaks briskly, still with her arms folded and tilts her head to the side smiling only a little smugly.

He looks stunned and lost for words again. The mouth opens and then closes and then the frown is back.

"Hey, you know I think there's some dead guys in the next town that didn't quite hear ya."

He looks around self consciously but she shrugs away his concerns.

"Well you're the one who bust in here yellin' and hollerin' like some mentally unstable baboon, pal."

"Look just stay away from Sam ok. It's for his own good."

"And what about your good, Dean?"

She's surprised when he flinches and glances away, just for a second and just for a second she swears she sees something close to vulnerability and just for a second she almost feels sorry for him.

But then he looks up again the face of stone back in place and she almost rolls her eyes it's so cliché.

"Doesn't matter. I got myself into this and I knew what I was doing. All that matters right now is that Sam's ok."

She unfolds her arms placing her hands on her hips frowning.

"Hmm, speaking of Sam, how do you think he feels about all this? I mean, I can't work out why, but the guy obviously loves you. Personally I think you're a tremendous prick but hey, we've only just met so don't feel too bad."

He shoots her The Glare again but doesn't speak, which disappoints her because she was hoping for a little more of a challenge. Then something hits her, something which she hadn't thought of before. Something which hadn't occurred to her because she had been too busy judging him, being angry with him for causing his little brother so much heartache, torment and embarrassment. Something which should have been obvious had she not already made up her mind about him, pigeon holed him and decided precisely which box he belonged in.

She laughs softly and shakes her head.

"You really love him don't you?"

She knows how it sounds and she berates herself for stating the obvious especially when Pissed off Prick pulls a face at her in a 'duh?' kind of way.

She shakes her head.

"Ok that was a little dumb. What I mean is, that when Sam told me what you did, my first reaction was, 'what an asshole.' I mean what kind of selfish son of a bitch would do that; but when I think about it - it doesn't make sense."

Dean looks away sneering uncomfortably.

"I mean if you made that deal for your own needs, cos you're a selfish dick who only cares about himself, cos you didn't wanna be left all alone then why not just eat a bullet? That would've been the easiest way out. Gotta be better than hell right?"

He looks back at her with a bored expression on his face but the look in his eyes doesn't match. His eyes which are green she has just noticed and seem to be hiding a thousand different emotions.

"But Sam would have still been dead wouldn't he? No, you made that deal for him didn't you? Not just because you couldn't handle the thought of living without him but for _him_. _Just him_. Because you wanted him to live, to be happy."

She's surprised to see the once fiery, assured green eyes glistening a little now and avoiding her gaze and she feels a sharp stab in her chest as she begins to understand what she couldn't before.

"That's all I ever wanted."

He stares at the floor now, not just a glance but his eyes are fixed there and she sees the vulnerability again and suddenly the thug isn't a thug anymore he's just a lost and frightened boy who obviously thinks very little of himself. She knows that look. Sees it in the eyes, sees the guilt, the self loathing, the feeling that you're worth nothing and the deep seated belief that nothing and no one can save you because you don't deserve to be saved. She sees it in his eyes because she'd seen it in her own.

She watches him a while, her head spinning, trying to re-evaluate her previous assessment of him, finding it uncomfortable to have to admit how wrong she had been and then reacting against everything that her head is telling her she hesitantly reaches out a hand and touches his arm.

"You're not a bad guy are you? You're just scared."

His head shoots up and the speed at which the defiance returns startles her, so much she pulls her hand away.

"I'm not scared of anything lady. But I'm warning you if you mess with my brother then _you'll_ have something to be scared about."

He turns then and storms out but she isn't finished this time and chases after him out of the diner and into the cold air grabbing the sleeve of his jacket and spinning him around to face her. She tries yelling at him this time, hoping a change of tone might get through the thick skull.

"Did it ever occur to you that he won't be happy if you're rotting in hell?!"

He yells back.

"He'll get over it. Sam's a fighter, he'll be fine. And he of all people deserves to be happy."

"And what about you Dean?"

"Me? It's my job to look after him and that's what I'm doing."

"Does it pay well, your job? You get vacation entitlement? Sick pay?"

He sneers at her but doesn't say anything so she assumes the answer is a no.

"What about time off, you get that? Couple o' days a week just to be yourself instead of your brother's body guard? Last time I checked Dean, Sam's a big boy. I figure he can take care of himself."

He says nothing again just stands there staring at her like she's the embodiment of evil or something.

"You know that I was possessed? That's how I got into all this. White Eyed Demon stole my body and made me do Very Bad Things."

She takes a step closer.

"These hands have done things you couldn't dream about, Dean. Things that I thought I should have been damned for a thousand times over. You think I deserve to be forgiven?"

"That's different. It wasn't you."

"Still got blood on my hands. I see it Dean, you're like a walking text book of low self worth, a huge guilt complex and pure unadulterated self loathing and I've been there and I know what it feels like."

His gaze falters and the lost little boy returns and she thinks for a second that maybe just maybe she's reaching him. She softens her voice a little, not wanting to blow it.

"So what did you do Dean? What did you do that was so bad you think you deserve to go to hell?"

His face twitches and the tears in his eyes are unmistakable.

She takes a step closer and rests her hand back on his arm and looks up at him offering a one sided grin.

"My point is cutie pie - that if I can get past what I did, then who knows maybe there's hope for you and your oh so bad boy lifestyle, you rogue you."

She punches him playfully in the shoulder but he doesn't look amused and instead shakes his head the tears close to spilling but not close enough.

"You don't know nothin' about me."

"No, Dean I don't. But I know your brother loves you and wants you to live."

He looks back down at his feet a sarcastic smirk on his face and she realises she's losing him.

"So, I'll ask you again. What about you? Haven't you suffered enough? Why not let him help you? Don't you think you deserve to live? Deserve some happiness?"

His head snaps back up once again furious and defiant, denying the still present tears.

"See that just proves how little you know about me cos if you had any idea...of what I am, of the things I've done...you would never say that."

The break in his voice contradicts the scowl and he turns about to leave before spinning back round to face her one last time.

"You stay away from my brother you understand me? You contact him again and you'll be sorry."

She stares after him blinking back her own tears, annoyed and disturbed at how these two strangers have got to her. She didn't ask for this. She didn't ask to be dragged into their sorry mess but now she doubts she'll ever be able to forget the look that Sam had offered her when he told her his brother was going to hell. Doubts she'll ever be able to erase the agony and emptiness that Dean had briefly allowed her to see in his raging green eyes. She shakes her head sadly before going in to pay the bill, the frown seemingly tattooed on her face. She leaves a few notes on the table her pulse racing, anger and adrenaline rushing through her veins but she still leaves a too large tip as always and the waitress with the pretty eyes picks it up smiling gratefully at her before watching her leave.

----------------------

_"Dude seriously you have got to get over this." _

_Sam said nothing just carried on staring at the ceiling above his bed. He removed one hand that was resting underneath his head and took a swift wipe at his eyes which didn't go unnoticed by his big brother. _

_"Sammy, come on, don't do that. It's just an eyebrow man." _

_"Go away." _

_"Look, I'm sorry ok, it was a dumb joke." _

_Sam said nothing but sniffed a little. _

_"Hey, maybe we can do something with a marker pen. This chick of yours will never know." _

_Sam sighed heavily but didn't take his eyes off the ceiling. _

_"It doesn't matter. She blew me off." _

_"Oh. Sorry dude, that sucks." _

_"She said I was too young and that she was going out with that jerk Carson Pickett instead." _

_"**Who**?" _

_"Carson Pickett." _

_"The Scottish dude?" _

_"Yeah, apparently he's studying to be a doctor. But from what I hear the guy couldn't doctor himself a new asshole." _

_"Look I keep telling you bro, girls suck. You don't wanna waste your time with em." _

_"You do. All the time." _

_Dean looked affronted. _

_"Not **all** the time. But anyway that's different. I'm older." _

_"How is it different?" _

_"It just is. Besides, now you're not going out with her you can stay here and hang out with your big brother. I got this new move I wanna show you. It's called 'how to get out of five different choke holds'." _

_Sam turned on his side to look at Dean his eyes lighting up. _

_"Does it work on ghosts and demons?" _

_Dean ginned. _

_"Not sure yet, haven't tried it." _

_Sam offered his big brother the faintest of smiles. It wasn't much but to Dean it spoke volumes. Dean smiled back. _

_------------------ _

"I'm sorry, ok? I didn't mean to embarrass you."

Sam says nothing. Sam has said nothing since they set off from the diner. Dean fidgets uncomfortably and looks across at his baby brother but sees someone else entirely. Sam's not Sammy anymore he's all grown up and maybe has no need for his big brother. Another time Sam would have been staring out of the window pouting, sulking and Dean would smile at the memory of a teenage Sam having one of his teenage tantrums and he would rib him and rag on him until he gave in and started talking to him again. But what he sees now is something else. Sam isn't pouting, he isn't sulking he isn't really doing anything other than staring out of the window.

One thing he is though is annoyed. Which is unfair because it's supposed to be Dean that's annoyed. It's Dean who was lied to, given the run around and whose orders were completely ignored. It was supposed to be Sam begging for forgiveness not Dean, but the last thing Sam looks right now is remorseful.

"Sam?"

Nothing.

"Come on dude, don't be like that."

He turns to him then his eyes cold.

"And what am I supposed to be like Dean? Please tell me cos I have no idea anymore?"

"You gotta let this go Sammy. I told you there's no way outta this, you're just gonna have to accept it."

"Accept it. Just like that."

"That's right."

"You know what, Unity may not have been able to help but she did give me an idea."

"What you talkin' about?"

"I'm talkin' about your deal, Dean and your dumb insistence that I sit with my thumb up my ass instead of trying to get you out of it. I mean did it ever occur to you that maybe I'm not just gonna sit and take this? Did you really think I'd back off just cos you told me to?"

Dean says nothing just stares straight ahead hands gripping the wheel.

Sam shrugs.

"Maybe I'll do a deal of my own after all. My life for your soul. Set things back how they were."

The next thing he hears is the screech of brakes and tyres on gravel as he's thrown forward the car coming to an abrupt halt.

He sits back in his seat turns to his brother with a 'what the hell' look on his face.

Dean shoves him into the passenger door, his fingers catching the skin on Sam's chest and the uneven surface behind him impacts with his shoulder blades causing an obvious wince.

"Take it back."

Sam's mouth twitches at the corner and he looks away briefly as if weighing up his options before turning back to his brother staring him down, his demeanour and tone inappropriately casual.

"Nah."

"TAKE IT BACK!"

Dean jerks him forward and slams in back again and he grunts this time but he doesn't stand down.

"I don't think so."

"You're not gonna do this."

"Wanna bet? Should be a piece of cake. I'll summon the demon tell her to put things back how they were. Or... or maybe ask Unity if she knows of a reversion spell."

"**_Sam_**."

His brother's voice is a warning but he doesn't care so he raises his own a notch, knocks off the sarcasm because he has never been more sincere about anything in his life.

"I'm serious Dean. This isn't how things are supposed to be. I'm supposed to be dead so maybe I should just go ahead and put it right, put things back how they should be if you won't let me find a way out for both of us."

"Don't say that, don't you say that."

Dean's voice has changed, it's low now almost breaking and he flinches again although this time it's not at his own discomfort. He softens his voice a little trying not to push his brother any closer to the edge he's already dangerously close to.

"Why Dean? It's the right thing to do, you know it and I know it, it's..."

He doesn't get to finish. Dean pushes him away and gets out of the car slamming the door shut with such ferocity Sam literally jumps. He swallows blinking a little too rapidly and makes his own exit to meet his brother who is perched on the hood of the car.

Sam stops dead in his tracks at what he sees. Dean is visibly shaking, his face ashen, looking like he might just throw up.

"Dean?" He warily reaches out a hand to Dean's shoulder but is cut off by a furious cry.

"GET BACK IN THE CAR!"

He steps back startled but doesn't move, breathing heavily, tears stinging his eyes and he suddenly feels very alone. They lock eyes for a few seconds until Dean turns away and repeats the order but this time he can only manage a whisper, his voice noticeably shaking.

"Get back in the car Sam."

And this time Sam obeys. He returns to his seat his own hands trembling now and tries to calm the rising panic threatening to take over. He chews on his lip, picks at his thumbnail and runs a hand through his hair and he waits until Dean resumes his position in the driver's seat and neither of them speaks until they arrive back at the motel.

-----------------

Unity arrives outside the door of her dismal and fusty motel room still ruffled and irritated and haunted with a feeling that something isn't quite right. She's unsure of what it means but she doesn't like how it makes her feel. Ever since leaving the diner she's been going over everything in her mind, trying to work out if it really did happen and why she can't shake the feeling that she's forgotten something or that there's something that needs her urgent attention. It's like being between asleep and awake and she can hear voices urging her to wake up to open her eyes and they're trying to tell her something but she can't work out what it is. The distraction causes her to drop her key and she curses before stooping to pick it up.

That's when she sees it. It's nothing really, to most people anyway but to her it means everything. She touches it gently, with her fingers and sighs heavily closing her eyes the sadness engulfing her.

She thinks that maybe the sensible choice of action would be to turn and run but right now, right here is where she decides that she's done running. She's done running and she's done hiding and if the time is now then who is she to argue. It's not her place to play God.

So Unity doesn't run. Instead she stands and pushes the unlocked door open and steps inside holding her head up her eyes forward ready to face whatever needs to be faced.

She's happy with the person she's become; happy with the choices she's made but the past still hurts and the pain lives on inside her every day. Some days it gives her the tenacity to carry on, to keep up the good fight, the anger, the obsession the need to pay penance is what spurs her on and gives her strength and courage but other days all it does is wear her down and all she wants is to curl up and cry out her deepest regrets, fall asleep and never wake up. Some days all she wants is to hand over the responsibility to someone else, to let go of the burden, release the weight and leave everything behind and simply melt away but she had decided long ago that that decision was not be hers to make.

The decision will be made for her just as it should be.

"Well, it's about time."

She's proud of the strength in her voice. It is still and peaceful and it doesn't waver, doesn't falter.

Her eyes drift towards the wall separating the bedroom from the bathroom, blocking most of her view of the bed but she can see the pair of shoes on feet, on ankles crossed, hanging over the edge casually swinging back and forth. Women's shoes black, slight heel, not too much, ideal for walking around all day in. The voices have quieted now, they're no longer deafening her. Her heart beats a steady rhythm and her breath is calm but her eyes are burning, stinging as the tears come uninvited, unannounced.

The shoes touch the floor and the waitress with the pretty eyes stands emerging from behind the wall and steps towards her smiling at her sadly.

"You know why I'm here don't you young one?"

"I could hazard a guess."

She holds the intruder's gaze keeping her eyes wide to prevent the tears from spilling because she won't cry today. She breathes in deeply and tells herself not to be scared because there's nothing to be scared of anymore. There is no need to fear when you are facing your destiny, facing your future and facing your past. There is no reason to be afraid of what is next and she won't be afraid, she won't be scared.

"I did want to thank you though Unity. For helping me find them."

"They're of no threat to you. You don't need to hurt them."

"Maybe, but the urge is too tempting to resist. Not my fault it's just how I am."

"Why? For what purpose? To get at me? I hardly know them they mean nothing to me."

She smiles shaking her head sadly, pityingly Unity thinks angrily; pity she neither wants or needs.

"My dear, it's not all about you, you know."

The waitress with the pretty eyes leans forward slowly, her cheek brushing Unity's skin causing an involuntary shiver and she pauses before whispering into her ear, the warm breath caressing her neck, sending more tremors coursing throughout, the feathery sound of her voice and it's message hammering into her soul, her brain screaming, nerve ends tingling, the blood in her whole body turning to ice. The messenger pulls away a smile on her perfectly formed face and gazes into her eyes and into her soul and Unity stares back shaking, shaking so much but she feels the fear and the terror and the years of trying to be someone who she never asked to be, drift away releasing her; the chains that had held her, obstructed her choices, caged her needs and desires fall away and take with them the constant stab of pain and self doubt as a tear is finally set free trailing it's way down the pale skin of her cheek and into oblivion.

"Goodbye Unity."

Then the waitress with the pretty eyes flicks her hand and there is a crack, a sharp intake of breath and then the pain ends.

TBC

Told you it was brief. Am I being too obvious here? Never was all that subtle...Comments welcome.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

_The fourth was Cassie. It had come as a shock to him when he realised that he loved her. It kind of crept up on him without him realising it but he guessed that that's how it was supposed to work. She had been unimpressed when they first met. That was what made him realise she was different. He knew instantly that she wouldn't put up with his crap; she had called him on his smart assed remarks - the way he knocked them out every time things got uncomfortable. She had seen right through them and told him to knock it off. No one had ever said that to him before. Well no one who he had screwed. It was scary as shit - hell, she was scary. She had a temper and a fire inside her that set his insides alight and he would wake up in the middle of the night, cold sweat tainting his skin, terrified and panic stricken. What scared him the most though, was that he didn't want it to stop._

_The sex was something else. No, it wasn't just sex, it was - well it was something else and when he finally accepted that he had fallen for her he decided that he would tell her. Tell her everything. He didn't want to have secrets from her he wanted her to know everything about him and that scared him too. He knew his Dad would rip him a new one but he didn't care. He found that he didn't really care about anything anymore and nothing seemed that important to him when she wasn't with him. He realised later that it was insane, that he was going insane, losing his mind even and it made absolutely no sense but at the same time it was the only thing that made sense. So he told her. Bared his soul, his darkest secrets and not for one minute did he ever imagine she would reject him. _

_Pride, of course always comes right before a fall and when he did he knew that he deserved everything he got._

_"So...what are you thinkin'?"_

_She stared at him blankly, like he had just told her he had put the laundry out or something and he stared right back and he suddenly felt as if there was nothing he couldn't share with this woman, like this was the most perfect moment in his life and for a few blissful seconds he felt saved. She didn't say anything for about a minute and then she stood and turned away from him, arms folded across her chest._

_A shooting stab of panic flickered through him and he realised he had no idea of what was going to happen next and the loss of control was both petrifying and exhilarating._

_"Cass? What's up? Say something."_

_She turned to look at him again her eyes coffee brown, framed with chocolate skin, burning right into his soul, the only thing that had been able to hold his attention for longer than one night._

_"Well what are you waiting for? Go then."_

_"What?" _

_He stood up then walked over to her and she seemed to be shaking a little._

_"Look, Cassie... I know it's a lot to take in but..."_

_He realised then that he didn't recognise her anymore. She wasn't the same, her eyes had changed and she was looking at him in a way that she had never looked at him before._

_"I said go. As in leave. Now."_

_Her voice was cold and hard. Hard enough to leave his head spinning with unspoken words, confusion and fear. Hard enough to hurt. Hard enough to break his heart._

_He turned his eyes downwards pretending to himself, to her, to the world that she hadn't just said what she had said aware that his eyes were filling with tears and he shook his head slightly denying what she had told him._

_"Look, I get it - you need some time."_

_"What I need is for you to leave."_

_"I'll...I'll call you right?"_

_"You need to leave now. Don't come back, don't speak to me or my family again and don't. Ever. Call me."_

_"Cass..."_

_"GO!"_

_She pushed him away from her then, dislodging a tear and it rolled down his cheek unchecked, unheeded. That was the last time she touched him, a hard, angry push, an act of violence, of regret, of hate and of a need to be rid of him. That was all he would remember, not the last time their lips brushed, or the last time she ran her long fingers through his hair or the last time she allowed the warmth of her hand to soothe the skin of his cheek but a shove. Pushing him away from her and out of her life._

_He didn't need to be told again and he left closing the door behind him. He was shaking when he found himself in the safety of his car and when he drove away he had no idea where he was going but he didn't get too far before he realised he couldn't see for the tears clouding his vision. He pulled up on the side of the road and cried long and hard like some love struck kid until he was exhausted and empty with no more tears to spill. Then he wiped his eyes, sniffed and drove away. _

_He wouldn't shed any more tears over her and he wouldn't be calling her either. He was done. And that love thing? He was done with that too._

_--------------------------_

Dean's quiet when they enter the motel room. He throws his coat on the bed aware that Sam is watching him carefully. Sam's thinking that this is going to be one of those times when neither of them speak, then one of them goes to sleep to avoid the other and then a few hours pass and the argument is filed under 'never mention again'. Sam thinks that that would suit him just fine because he really doesn't want to talk about it anyway. He doesn't want to argue about who gets to live and who dies because he knows how it will end. It will end with Dean winning the argument and effectively losing his right to live and Sam will be back to square one. Alone and still trying to save the only thing that mattered.

He thinks of his conversation with a young bald woman in a diner and wonders if she would have made the suggestion had she known what he knows. She hadn't known about Dean when she had suggested the unthinkable. Unthinkable to Dean, not to him but she hadn't known that either. She hadn't realised that her concept of grief and of loss was light years away from what Dean had experienced when Jake had plunged that knife into his back.

It's not her fault though because there are few people who understand what it means to be a Winchester. Few people understand the connection, the bond that he and his brother have been blessed with, cursed with, unasked for but theirs all the same. And there are few people still living who could properly fathom what it would do to one of them to lose the other.

Sam does understand though but he still has to try because if Unity is right, if there is no loophole and no amount of time, or searching or researching will make a difference then this is the only thing he has. Redressing the balance, turning back the clock, sending himself back to where he belongs is the only thing that can save his brother even though he knows it will destroy him in the process but Unity had been right. Anything would better than an eternity in Hell. Anything. He just has to convince Dean of that and if he can't then maybe he will have to take that road alone, without his brother's consent or blessing and it is that which he knows he must be ready for.

But then the picture of Dean's face flashes through his mind, stood perched on the hood of the Impala, pale and terrified and so alone and it's almost enough for him to forget everything, to return to plan A, to ignore the nagging doubts in his head, to go back to the foolish denial and insistence that he can and will save his brother simply because he has no other choice, but there's this voice in his head that sounds like Unity telling him not to be a coward, not to shirk responsibility, to be strong, to make the hard choice for both of them because if he doesn't then they're both doomed, even though he knows without question that it will break his brother's heart for the second time that year. His brother's heart which had never really been whole, never fully healed from what had been done to it after such a short time on the earth, never fully recovered from losing their Mom, losing their Dad, from losing him.

What's a broken heart though compared to an eternity in Hell? What's a broken heart if you still have your soul and a chance - even a slim one to recover? Failing that there was always the afterlife. If there's a Hell then surely there must be a heaven.

He almost laughs at the idea knowing there is as much chance of convincing Dean of the existence of heaven as there is of Hell freezing over.

"Dean?"

He stands by the far wall watching his brother who is sat on the end of his bed staring straight ahead as if in shock.

"You can't do this Sam."

His voice is so small, so lost, it's not his brother speaking and he wonders if what he's doing isn't torture.

"You think? From where I'm stood it looks like the only option."

Dean stands up and turns away to hide the tears in his eyes Sam thinks, but it's too late he's already seen them.

"Sam, please. You can't."

Sam takes a few steps forward and reaches out and taking hold of his arm lightly and Dean responds turning back to face him and Sam sees the redness around his eyes, the desperation, the pleading and it makes him feel like shit.

"Just don't, ok, please? Don't do this. I can't...I can't go through that again...I can't...please."

Sam feels his heart twist in agony. He hates this, he hates it so much he just wants it not to be happening. He reaches out again for something to hold on to, to steady him but Dean turns away once more and scrubs a hand across his face wiping away the tears before they fall.

Sam walks around in front of Dean all traces of his anger disappearing, keeping his voice low, soft, gentle.

"And how am I supposed to go through it Dean? How the hell do I go through losing you...like that? Tell me how it's any different?"

Fury flashes across his brother's face and he's yelling at him now.

"Because you'll be fine, you'll carry on. You'll get up and you'll carry on and you'll find someone to be happy with. But me? I won't. I can't do that. All these years I never asked you for anything but...you can't do this...please..."

His voice falters on his final plea but Sam ignores it ploughing through his brother's anguish, blocking it out the only thing he can do.

"But Dean, we're not just talking about life and death here, we're talking about your soul and we're talking about an eternity in Hell. What could be worse than that?"

"Knowing I **_failed_** you Sam! Knowing I let you down!"

"You didn't let me down Dean, you never could!"

"You're **_wrong_**!"

He steps away again and sits back down on to the bed leaning forward, hands pressed into his eyes and Sam crouches in front of him feeling as if his chest might explode and realising his brother is close to tears and knowing he had caused it and wishing he could stop it. And Sam realises what he always knew - that this was never an option, that Unity got it wrong, that she just didn't get it, she didn't understand that sacrificing himself for Dean isn't going to happen because Dean would burn himself alive before allowing it and he knows that he just hasn't got it in him to destroy his brother a second time and if that makes him a coward and a cop out and a quitter then so be it because he'd rather be labelled the biggest, lamest, spineless cretin in the whole universe than do this to his brother, because he can't stand this, he can't look Dean in the eye and tell him that he's going die again, tell him that he has to be alone, tell him that he's going to leave him for a third time. He just can't.

"Dean, hey come on man."

He takes his hands and pulls them away from his face.

"I didn't mean it ok? I didn't mean it."

He's aware that his voice sounds broken and frantic like a panic stricken child as he back pedals, taking back all he had said, his eyes burning, hoping it will be enough.

Dean shakes his head, apparently not hearing, allowing a few tears to escape, drowning Sam with their sorrow and desperation.

"You can't do this, you can't..."

He wipes away the wetness and breathes in shuddering.

"Dean, I didn't mean it ok? I swear I didn't mean it, I'm not gonna do that to you. I'll find a way for both of us I promise. I'm not gonna leave you Dean ok? I promise."

He grabs his brother's face with both hands and tries to force eye contact, but Dean just closes his eyes still for only a few seconds before pushing Sam's hands away and walking out of the room. Sam turns and sits on the floor back against the side of the bed breathing out and a few moments later hears the familiar sound of a car engine and wheels on gravel, but he doesn't move. He stays where he is and cries once again for his brother who he will never stop crying for.

------------------------------

Dean doesn't return until morning and Sam says nothing and Dean pretends he doesn't notice the dark circles under his little brother's eyes, or the redness caused by too much crying and he says nothing about the empty bottle of whisky on the bedside table and Sam doesn't ask where he's been and he doesn't mention the fact that he's tired from lack of sleep and hung over from too much whiskey and heartbroken from too many days of waking up with the knowledge that his brother is being gradually pulled away from him and the previous day and its events are buried like so many others.

Dean is back on form and Sam is once again ignoring the screaming in his head and the distance between them grows that little bit more.

--------------------------

"Hey Dean, take a look at this."

"What?"

Sam's face screws up in a pained expression as he stares at his laptop, eyes flickering across the screen reading and re- reading not really wanting to believe the words.

"Oh God."

"What?!"

Dean continues flicking through channels on the TV with the remote doing his best to irritate his brother and succeeding.

"It's Unity. She's...she was murdered Dean."

His voice catches painfully but Dean seems unmoved.

"What?!"

"Dude, could you stop saying that?"

"What?"

"Says here her she was found dead...crap, Dean the day after we...Dean her neck was broken."

"So. I guess that's what happens sometimes. She was into some deep shit Sam."

Dean drops the remote and gives his little brother his attention.

"She was a consultant, Dean."

"Yeah to hunters and I'm guessin' she had her fair share of enemies if you get my meaning."

"It's just too...I dunno. The day we met her, I mean it can't be a coincidence right?"

"Life is full of coincidences."

"Not for us."

"So, what? You think some demon killed her because of you? Don't you think that's a little far fetched? I mean it's not all about you, you know Sam."

"I dunno Dean. Something just doesn't seem right about this."

"Sam she was caught up in this scary, weird ass world just like us. Just like all the other hunters and researchers we've known who've been whacked. It's generally only a matter of time before your luck runs out. Dad knew it and you and I both know it. People like us aren't meant to grow old."

"Is that what you think? That you're destined to die young?"

Dean gives him an odd look, a look that says 'have you been living under a rock for the last few weeks?'

Sam smirks sarcastically.

"Oh yeah sorry I forgot. You're a dead man. Y' know even though you're little brother's promised to save your ass you're still convinced he's gonna fail and that you're gonna die. That's great Dean."

"Sam, don't start ok?"

Dean picks up the remote and resumes flicking.

"No, you know that's fine Dean. Let's just leave it at that ok? You're gonna die and all's right with the world."

Sam turns back to the lap top, reading the article once more, rubbing a hand across his face absorbing the guilt and wishing he could turn back the clock.

-----------------

It doesn't take long for another hunt to emerge and distract them from their daily squabbles. Sam's grateful for the diversion and he doesn't realise it but so is Dean. Hunting seems to be the only thing they can agree on these days, the only thing they have in common Dean thinks but then a part of him has always known that. Without hunting they probably wouldn't even talk, without this goal, this fight they would more than likely live at other ends of the country and Sam would probably call him at Thanksgiving, Christmas and his birthday and that would be it. In the past Sam had implied that once their job was over he would go back to college and it had terrified Dean into saying things he really wishes he hadn't.

He had been panic stricken that once Sam left the hunting business then he would lose his little brother for sure and they would have nothing to bind them together and they would eventually drift apart. After that little encounter with the Djinn his fears had been confirmed although Sam had done his best to convince him it wasn't real. Now though he's not so sure. The only time they don't fight these days is during the hunt or when they're discussing a hunt. It's a perfect diversion, a go between, a kill switch which instantly puts a stop to any possibility of an unpleasant conflict and helps them both forget the anger bubbling away inside.

"Dean, don't get mad ok but I got an idea."

"Great another one of your ideas."

"Well, we could kill her. Or at least threaten to."

"Absolutely no way whatsoever."

"What, you not even gonna hear me out?"

"Don't need to cos it's not gonna happen, not while I have breath in my body."

_"I don't understand Dean why not?"_

Because he said so because he's the oldest and because he's a stubborn, stupid prick who thinks he deserves to die but right now Sam is thinking "So fucking what?"

_"...you're gonna let this go, you understand me?"_

And that's the moment that as usual he backs down, plays the obedient younger brother and does as he's told. Even now after everything, Dean still knows how to slap him down like some little kid and Dean only has to yell at him in that precise tone and shoot him that one and only look that never fails to work and lo and behold Sammy shuts the hell up. It always did piss him off how his brother could do that and how there had always been that chink in his armour that just didn't have the balls to stand up and say 'No way not this time'.

_"Come on, Sam; tell me about the psychotic killer."_

But that's the kill switch, the perfect diversion which tips the balance and everything resets to status quo. The hunt continues, hiding what lies beneath the surface and they can just about pretend that they're brothers again and everything is fine fucking fine. But of course everything isn't fine because Sam is pissed and no amount of yelling and glowering from his big brother is going to scare him into submission this time. He just has to make Dean think he has. Submitted that is.

Dean may be able to put the fear of John into him but Sam has one thing which had never been Dean's strong point and that one thing was his brain. He knows that's a little harsh, Dean isn't half as dumb as he likes to make out even if he does have a long way to go before reaching genius stage. But Sam has always had the advantage of a sharper mind than Dean and it is that which he needs to use right now not get himself drawn into an argument over who is the alpha male. And it's his brain, his ability to shut up and act like an adult and the fact that he has been blessed with at least a small amount of patience is what later stops him from knocking his brother on his ass in a hospital corridor.

_"Is that what you want me to do Dean, just let you go?"_

A couple of years ago he may have well lost it. A couple of years ago he may have thought to hell with it and let his emotions get the better of him _and_ his brother but it's strange what two years can do to a man. Two years spent travelling the country with your once estranged big brother trying to find your absent father who you were never destined to have an adult relationship with. Two years spent struggling with grief, with loss, with guilt and then if that hadn't been enough shit to have to deal with he'd had to go and find out what dying was like.

That and finding out your only remaining family is going to end up trapped in a world of eternal suffering in just under a year is just about enough to make you grow up somewhat.

His new found maturity and the inconvenient location seem to be the only things coming between Sam and a set of bruised and swollen knuckles right now and fortunately for Dean hospitals are generally not the best place to be smacking the shit out of your older brother and best friend because the doctors and nurses wouldn't understand your motives and wouldn't understand that you had done it because you love him and that each and every day that brings you both closer to that day is tearing you apart from the inside out and no one - _no one_ -seems to care but you.

He watches as Dean walks away from him, away from _him,_ yet again and he lets him, just watches, his heart slowly crumbling and feeling more alone than ever.

He doesn't see Dean until later and he's drunk unsurprisingly and bearing that just got laid expression that he's been wearing a lot recently but Sam doesn't argue, or berate or rebuke. He doesn't say anything, just watches him unnoticed as he clumsily undresses and falls wordlessly into bed. Sam lies down on his own bed refusing to let his tears fall and silently makes a decision.

-------------------------

_Sam picked himself up off the floor and dusted off the mud from his jeans trying his best to act like the punch hadn't hurt._

_"Aw look the little freak's gonna cry. Hey freak, you want your books back?"_

_Sam stood there staring at the three older boys who were way taller than him and wondered if he was ever going grow._

_He didn't say anything as they all giggled and whispered to each other._

_"Hey freak, is it true your dad killed your mom?"_

_"No."_

_"I heard that your dad killed your mom cos she looked like you and he couldn't stand the sight of you so he killed her instead of you and that's why you have no friends."_

_Sam screwed up his face disgusted but unimpressed._

_"That's just dumb."_

_"At least I'm not a freak, like you freak."_

_"Hey who you calling a freak."_

_Sam spun round eyes wide at the familiar and very welcome sound of his brother who had now appeared at his six._

_The boys sneered. They were taller than Sam but not as tall as his brother and the stories they had heard told them that you didn't mess with this guy._

_"No one - no one calls my little brother a freak. Except me."_

_He took a step forward then and was left standing, only a little surprised when the three turned and fled. He twisted on his heel back to face his brother a slight frown on his face._

_"Well that was disappointing."_

_Sam grinned up at him._

_"You know I could have kicked their asses right?"_

_"Sure you could little brother. Didn't doubt you for a second."_

_He frowned again, when he noticed the slight red tinge on his brother's cheek._

_"Did they hit you?"_

_Sam backed off his face dropping at the sudden glare his brother was fixing on him._

_"No..." Sam knew better than to give his brother a reason to get mad. He liked this school and was hoping to stay here for at least e few more weeks._

_"**Sam."**_

_"Dean it's no big deal..."_

_"Which one Sam?"_

_And of course Sam had told him. Sam had relented because he could never stand up under that glare or hold his own when his brother used that tone on him. And he wasn't all that surprised but felt a tiny bit of pride and a little more guilt when Scott Anderson came into school the next day with a black eye that made his look lame in comparison. Because no one got to call him a freak. Except Dean._

-----------

It hadn't been a wasted bullet because it had made him feel good if only for a few seconds and he hasn't felt good in a very long time. Nothing happened of course except that she was now as dead as old yellow eyes because that would have been too fucking easy and since when do things ever go easy for the Winchesters? But it had made him feel better. That bitch had spouted all that crap about Dean and he had actually considered putting the gun down and ripping off her head because no one - _no one _gets to talk that way about his brother. The anger she had aroused had been engulfing, suffocating and clouded all his thoughts all his inhibitions all his senses and he knows that he could have done anything in that moment.

Sometimes the things he's prepared to do for his family scares the living crap out of him.

The anger had only dimmed a little with her death. It had taken a hold of his insides, his stomach had seized up and he had felt sickened to the core. Even now the feeling is still there and it makes him want to throw things around the room poltergeist style and scream until the windows shattered, he wants to pull the skin from his bones and pound his fists into the walls because the same thought keeps circling around his head over and over and won't let him rest. What if her words had held some spark of truth? What if her words were a mirror of how Dean sees himself and what if her poison had been taken right out of Dean's head?

He starts to wonder if that's why Dean is so resistant, because he truly believes that Sam will be 'a little bit relieved' when he's gone. That thought alone is enough to keep the anger bubbling, slowly boiling away under the surface waiting to blow when needed.

-----------------------------

The second time Sam nearly smacks his brother in the face it's the car that saves him. You just can't get a good swing when you're cramped in a small place but oh how he had wanted to. In fact he had wanted to grab him and shake him and wipe that smart ass smirk off his face and make him take back every word that he had said. The very tone of his voice had been like nails on a black board, chatting away to him like he was discussing the weather. He had had to bite his lip at first because he could tell there was more to come but he hadn't been all that sure if he wanted to hear it and when Dean had used the words 'going away' as if he was taking a vacation a thousand words had leapt into his mind and he had wanted to jump on his brother and yell "You're not going away you asshole you're going to die!" and then when Dean had told him he would be ok - that he would carry on because he was stronger than Dean - well he still doesn't know how he didn't lose it completely.

And then - as if the prick hadn't stuck enough fucking needles into him he had gone and apologised.

_"You know what Dean, go screw yourself."_

He had seen the look on his brother's face as the words registered, the shock, the hurt but he hadn't given a shit, but then just as he thought that there was an opportunity to kick his brother's ass, to get through the impenetrable skull, the cast iron thick defences, Dean had applied routine: smirk and jest and had _he _been the one driving he would have pulled over, dragged Dean out of the car and knocked him on his stubborn, stupid, selfless ass.

He wonders if frustration really can drive you mad but in fact it's actually starting to bore him. The daily bullshit his brother produces, the constant smart assed remarks, the unconvincing front, the mask and the defences which aren't fooling anyone save the odd brain damaged amoeba and sometimes he wonders who it's all for.

Dean can't possibly believe that Sam is buying any of it and he sometimes wonders that maybe the act is for Dean because it's the only way he can deal. The only way he knows how.

--------------------------

It had knocked him sideways. He had spent ages building up to it. Had spent ages thinking about it. Going over and over in his head what Sam had done and how he had no right to be mad at him. It hadn't been easy to bring up the subject, hadn't been easy to talk to his little brother, hadn't been easy to admit what he had admitted. He had cringed inwardly a little knowing how his words sounded, casual, flippant even but he hadn't meant them to. He had tried to think about what it must be like for Sam to empathise, to apologise and he had thought that that was what Sam had wanted. His apologies and his assurances that everything would be ok and he had truly believed that it would get things back to how they should be but he couldn't have been more wrong.

Sam had shot him down, thrown it back at him and it had hurt like hell. Still hurts. It hurts because he had read his brother so wrongly, completely misunderstood everything and Sam is still pissed with him. He doesn't want Sam to be mad at him because it reminds him of how he is wasting time of how little time he has left with his brother and he knows that soon it will end and what will be left? The thought of going to Hell is enough to make him want to shut everything down, but the thought of losing his brother, of watching the bond they have slowly eaten away - he can think of only one thing that's worse.

-------------------------------

Arriving at Atlantic City hadn't been the most uplifting of moments. Sam had still been pissed with Dean and Dean could sense his brother's anger and had no intention of even going anywhere near it let alone confronting the issue. He had promised himself that the next few days would be a holiday, an early Christmas present to himself where he could let go, waste some money and have some fun. After changing into the tux that Bela had got him for their little soiree with old Gert he had slipped the colt into his inside pocket - just in case - and left Sam alone in the hotel room heading down to the casino floor for some well earned downtime.

He had hung out at the bar, gotten a little drunk, chatted to some girls and got lucky with a 5' 6" ish dark haired stunner called Eve all in the space of a few hours. He had been sat up in a four poster bed sipping a glass of pretty expensive champagne when the girl he had screwed had suggested they go to her friends luxury pad where there was going to be lots of girls, lots of beer and lots of poker. The party was invitation only and would be kicking off within the hour and he had been drunk enough to feel flattered. After promising her he would be back in ten he had knocked back his champagne given her an intoxicated kiss and threw on his shirt and pants leaving her with a cheeky wink.

------------------

He figures it's only polite to inform Sam of his plans for the night besides it's not going to hurt just to check in on him. He examines his reflection in the doors of the elevator, rubs away the lipstick that Eve had left behind and tries doing something with the now too ruffled hair. He smoothes it to the side then spikes it up again and then frustrated messes it back up with the palm of his hand. His shirt is hanging out of his pants, crumpled and untidy, looking exactly like someone who had just had wild sex with a stranger and he can't help but smirk at himself and his own irrepressible abilities. Life is sweet, he thinks, happily, until his phone buzzes ruining his day and interrupting him from his self appreciation, drawing him back to reality as he sees the multiple missed calls from his little brother.

The elevator doors swing open at around the same time he hears Sam's frantic and anxious tones on the voicemail and he steps inside hitting the button to go up a level his face creasing into a frown as the message plays out.

"Dean, call me as soon as you get this. I'm with Bobby, we got a job. A big one. Oh yeah and bring the Colt."

Dean hangs up the phone annoyed and irritated at the interruption to his well earned vacation time but then a bolt of panic rushes him as he notices the lack of weight to the inside pocket of his jacket where the Colt had once been.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**What, you mean you came back for more? Ah thanks for that cos I nearly didn't. This story is taking soooo long I never intended it to drag out like this so really sorry for that. This part of the story I had the back bone for from the start, although I changed things around a bit and in the end it all became a bit unnecessary. Maybe I should have scrapped it but for some reason I didn't, I just hope it doesn't read too much like a totally pointless, unoriginal, lazy, lame ass excuse for a plot. Hopefully the next part of this story will be better and there will still be a few folk left hanging around to read it. I'm shutting up now. **

**Chapter 6 **

Bobby Singer is a lot of things. Some would call him a crusty old red neck, other's a grubby con man, a car mechanic, a hunter, a weirdo, a semi retired hunter, a consultant, a friend, an Uncle - not a real Uncle but a friend of the family type Uncle, the guy who you could rely on, who you could call anytime you wanted and borrow stuff from, like a lawnmower, tools to fix your car with, a ladder, or weapons and holy water to use on your next demon hunt. Demons of course had always been his thing and he's proud of the amount of knowledge he's acquired over the years. Proud of the fact that people come to him for advice and information so it had really pissed him off and made him realise how old and out of touch he was getting when one of his friends stroke sources had contacted him with some pretty disturbing news which he really should have picked up on sooner.

He'd known about the Third Hierarchy for a long time. He'd researched all the aspects of demonology because he had found that it came in handy when certain persons kept showing up on your door step expecting you to help them out and pull their skinny asses out of all sorts of shit. It also helped when said persons showed up on your doorstep not altogether themselves and you just knew that said person's overprotective, older brother wouldn't be far behind expecting you to fix it and make it all okay again.

Of course he doesn't really mind certain persons running to him for help and only pretends to be annoyed and irritated when he has to bail them out of yet another drama because well trouble just seems to find some people and he would never admit it but it kind of makes him feel useful. That and the fact that he would walk through fire for these certain persons and knows without a doubt that they would reciprocate. Which is why he doesn't even hesitate to pick up his cell phone and dial the number which he doesn't even have to search for because it's one of those numbers that he's been using a lot lately and it still happens to be in the last twenty calls list. Well actually it's more like the top three, but the other one is further down. He doesn't call the other one as often because he generally tends to end up regretting it.

If he has to call the other one he's nearly always forced to listen to seemingly endless jibes about his age, his car, his beard, his cap and whatever else the young man seems to find amusing or fair game before he can actually get to the point in question. But often by the time the little shit's finished making fun of him and he's retaliated with several warnings and threats to smack him in the head or kick him up the rear the next time he sees him, he's usually forgotten what it was he was calling about which then means he has to suffer more abuse about his memory, his age, his mind, his brain and so on and so on.

He'd learned pretty quickly that contacting that one was a great way to run up a huge phone bill so these days he opts for the one who he knows he'll get more sense out of. _Nearly_ always - because the masochist in him sometimes can't resist. This isn't one of those times however. This time he needs sense, maturity and a level head and that is most definitely not Dean.

-----------------

"Hey, Bobby, how's it going?"

Sam is lying lazily on his bed, beyond bored and more than happy that his phone has just squealed in glee at him, displaying Bobby's number under the caller ID.

"So so. You boys still in Massachusetts?"

Sam's eyes narrow and he shifts on to his side propping his head up with one hand sighing dramatically.

"No, right now Bobby, I'm stuck in a hotel room in Atlantic City. Don't ask me where Dean is cos I have no idea. Although I could probably have a good guess."

He rolls on to his back leaning his head on the head board and picks up the remote for the television hoping he'll find something of minor interest to pass the hours.

"Atlantic City? I'm headed there right now. How d'you find out, I only just heard myself?"

He drops the remote and sits up, borderline excited at the potential of something less mind numbing than watching a documentary on llama farming.

"Find out... what?"

"The Ritual? You know demons? Nasty ones?"

"What...ritual?"

Bobby sighs, sounding slightly imaptient.

"Okay...so if you're not there for that what the hell you doin' there?"

Sam leans back again smirking.

"Came into a little money - and Dean...well, I'll let you figure out the rest. So what's this ritual thing? Sounds ominous."

"Yeah you could say that."

Sam listens intently as Bobby tells him about the triplet of demons attempting to wreak havoc on Atlantic City in the early hours. He interrupts with the odd question, his face contorting into numerous expressions of surprise, fear, disgust and horror as Bobby casually chats away, as if he's discussing the weather about how yes it's a demon ascension ritual that's going to take place, no it isn't a good thing and yes they really need to put a stop to it.

"So, Bobby. Who's the third hierarchy and how come you know so much about them?"

"Well, Sam, The Third Hierarchy, or The Third - as I affectionately call them..."

He chuckles and Sam's eyebrows knit together, slightly disturbed.

"...are three incredibly psychotic and ancient demons that've been around for millennia. They function as one never as individuals and they don't use hosts. They've been pretty inactive the last few decades but I'm guessing the opening of the Hell Gate must have disturbed them. Oh yeah did I mention they're extremely difficult to exorcise or kill?"

"What about the Colt?"

"Well that's what I'm hopin'. Anyway, I'm guessing the sudden influx of demons after the gate was opened provided them with the level of power required to attempt an ascension. I'm guessing it's some higher ranking demon who they revere but my source couldn't tell me anymore."

"Bobby, dude, have you heard yourself? One of these days someone's gonna overhear you and lock your ass up."

"Tell me about it. Sometimes I even scare myself. So how bout it? You up for a little demon slaying?"

Sam sighs wearily but secretly pleased.

"You know me Bobby, always up for that. Let me see if I can track my brother down and I'll kick his ass into shape."

"Sure thing kiddo. Hey Sam, you say you showed up here just for the hell of it?"

"Yeah, Dean wanted a little down time. Why, you thinkin' what I'm thinkin'? That this is one of those weird, too spooky to be a coincidence type things?"

"Hmm, somethin' like that."

Sam gets up after ending the call pacing around the room excitably before hitting the quick dial for Dean's cell phone. There's no answer so he tries again still pacing running a hand through his hair impatiently.

"Answer your damn phone, man."

He tries again and again and again then one more time.

The final attempt he leaves a message.

-------------------------

"Shit! Shit! Fuck! Shit!"

Dean searches frantically for the fifth time through the pockets of his tux knowing that it's futile, The Colt is no longer where it should be and Sam is going to kill him. He can think of only one place it could be and that's back in Eve's hotel room although he's finding it a little hard to believe that it fell out of his pocket all on it's own.

He leans heavily against the wall of the elevator, deliberately banging his head hard and closing his eyes in frustration. It occurs to him to go back and tell Eve politely that he'd like his gun back please but something tells him that may not be a great idea. If as he suspects she took it out of his pocket, it's highly likely that she knows exactly what it is and if she knows what it is then she's either a hunter - something he doubts or a collaborator. If it's the latter - he knows he's in deep shit.

He'd heard about people like her. His dad had spoken about them when he was a kid but know one was ever certain if it was truth or myth. Collaborators - as they were known, supposedly once ordinary upstanding citizens who somehow ended up embroiled in the murky underworld of demon politics. Humans who decided that an ordinary apple pie existence wasn't for them and that maybe there was more to life than the average nine to five two point four kids picket fence bullshit. People who messed with things they shouldn't, experimented with matters that they knew nothing about and pushed their luck to the limit and before they knew it they were in too deep and had traded their soul in return for promises of riches or power or adoration.

He'd never really believed it himself - he'd always worked on the assumption that people were inherently good and the idea of betraying their own kind had always been incomprehensible to him. Of course these days things had happened which had changed his thinking. First Jake and now Bela although he's not all that convinced by the latter. He'd seen right through her from the start, not that he can really be bothered with her so called issues. Hell everyone has issues especially he and his brother and their issues pretty much win out no contest.

Realising, that if there were such a thing as collaborators then it seems likely that this Eve chick may actually be one he gives his head another thump on the wall irritated and embarrassed that he'd been played like a fool, just as the doors slide open to reveal a couple in their mid forties staring at him in an odd way. He gives them an awkward grin and slides past them before jogging down to his room. He figures now may be a good time to call his brother.

-------------------------

Sam and Bobby are sat hunched over in a quiet bar some place away from the hustle and bustle of the city, poring over books and papers each of their expressions of frustration mirroring the other's.

Bobby pulls out more literature on the demons that they're planning on dispatching. Old dusty books, print outs off the internet and ancient drawings all giving varying descriptions and information on weaknesses and recipes for termination. Sam glances over the lists of herbs, plants and completely unheard of hoodoo sounding ingredients that could all be a possible aid in their hunt although he has no idea how Bobby expects to procure such items in time for the so called Ritual. He's staring at an image of something, squinting, trying to figure out which way up it goes. He turns it ninety degrees to the right then another ninety degrees then back the other way until Bobby with a look of mild irritation snatches it out of his hand and spins it one hundred and thirty five degrees to the left before shaking his head at Sam.

Bobby returns to his own papers frustrated, scribbling several lines through a word he's written.

"What we really need is the Colt."

He shakes his head, eyebrows meeting in a frown and pensively scratches his chin.

"Dean still not called you back?"

Sam screws his face up at a particular long list of unpronounceable and rare substances supposedly for protection and expelling evil although he's not too convinced.

"No, but when he does I'm gonna kick his ass. Bobby what the hell is ryc... ric..."

"Ah yeah I have no idea how you pronounce that either. I managed to get hold of some of this stuff already, but the rest I'm not even sure if it exists. If we can't get hold of the Colt it's gonna be a real bitch to send those bastards back to Hell and to be honest I'm not even sure if it's possible but if we can disrupt the Ritual it might at least buy us some time."

Bobby jots something on a piece of tatty brown paper.

"Hmm."

Sam looks up.

"You found something."

"It's this translation I'm working on. Really ancient dialect."

"Older than you ancient, or _ancient_ ancient."

Sam receives The Glare and smirks looking away.

"_Really_ ancient."

Bobby holds the glare but Sam just keep his eyes down trying not to giggle. Bobby shakes his head again and turns back to the papers.

"I think I got it but... I dunno if this is right..."

"What's it say?"

"My friend picked it out from stuff he got hold of. Said it's directly related to the Third. I dunno Sam this really isn't good."

"But, what's it say?"

"Maybe I got wrong, but I'm sure this bit..."

"Bobby!"

Bobby looks up a little startled.

"Dude, just tell me what it says."

Bobby frowns.

"Well... this part talks about the return of the Third - something along the lines of 'return amidst the great war' or maybe 'great chaos'. At least that's what I think though I'm not one hundred per cent. And this section here means 'enemy shall burn' and if I have it right then it's saying that a lord or master shall 'come forth in his place'."

Sam shakes his head confusion wrinkling his features.

"So...what?"

"Well the word 'enemy' doesn't translate exact but what I do know is that this prefix means singular not plural."

"You've lost me."

"The _enemy_, Sam, one person not an army."

"And..."

Bobby sighs.

"Come on Sam, do I have to spell it out?_ Enemy shall burn - _as in _one_ man, and the 'master' shall take his place?"

Sam quirks an eyebrow wrinkles his nose then shrugs.

"I got nothin'."

"It's a sacrifice Sam. A human sacrifice."

Sam's face screws up in horror.

"Yeah, that's not good."

----------------

"Do you have it?"

"Of course I have it, what do you take me for a complete amateur?"

"And is everything else in place?"

"He's here and he's on board."

"Does he suspect anything?"

"Nah. He's an idiot."

"What did I tell you? Do not underestimate him."

"It doesn't matter. I have the item. Whatever happens he's now at my disposal. Besides he _is_ an idiot. It was a piece of cake reeling him in. I didn't even have to cheat. Which was nice, considering the headache I got getting them here."

"What about the other one."

"Probably holed up in their room watching pay per view, who cares?"

-------------

Sam is zipping up his jeans having just relieved himself in the men's when his phone springs to life. He jumps startled and fumbles in the pockets so anxious to answer it he drops it on to the floor.

"Dammit."

He stoops to pick it up realizing with relief that it's still ringing, only to be met by a pair of scuffed cowboy boots facing him. He follows them up to a bearded face staring down at him, a disturbingly amorous smirk on the stranger's lips.

"Hi, I erm dropped my phone."

The man raises an eyebrow at Sam questioningly, invitingly almost as Sam pulls himself up.

"My phone...that's why I was down there...um..."

The man grins at him and Sam practically stumbles out of the toilet panic stricken leaving the man to shrug disappointedly.

Sam jogs to the end of the corridor farthest away from the bar before answering his phone. He's not too keen on anyone listening in on the conversation.

"Dean?"

"Hey Sammy what's up?"

"Dean where the hell have you been? I've been trying..."

"Sam, keep your panties on. I'm fine - just been a little busy if you get my meaning."

Dean chuckles.

"Great Dean I'm real happy for you but you think you could get your head outta your shorts and re-boot your upstairs brain? We got problems Dean I mean big problems. I'm with Bobby and he says there's gonna be some kind of summoning ritual held at this party. Some big bad gonna be brought out of Hell and we need to stop it."

"You know what Sam; I'm not really in a demon ritual stopping kinda mood."

"Dean don't you get it. These demons are gonna summon this bigger demon and then all the party goers are basically gonna be lunch, or well breakfast actually cos Bobby says it's not happening till the early hours but anyway according to this freaky translation Bobby got they're gonna be making some kind of sacrifice."

"Party you say. Would that be_ the _party. The one just out of town that everyone's talkin' about?"

"Yeah, I guess so, why?"

Dean shakes his head laughing.

"Son of a BITCH! Perfect, that's just perfect."

"Dean, what you talkin' about?"

"This girl I met, well she's taking me to this party in about...ten minutes. Got myself a VIP invite."

Sam rolls his eyes ignoring the obvious pride in his brother's tone.

"Dean, don't go and make sure you tell her not to. We're coming to get you just make sure you have the Colt to hand."

"Yeah... Sam about that."

Sam sighs in the way that Sam does when he knows his brother is going to give some bad news.

"What?"

"I think I kinda lost it."

And then Sam's voice goes up an octave causing Dean to wince.

"You did what?"

"The Colt, I think this chick may have...um... took it."

"What? She took the...What the _hell_ is wrong with you?"

"You think maybe she could be involved with this demon thing?"

"Uh, yeah Dean I think it's a strong possibility. What the hell were you thinkin'? I mean you let some demon girl get hold of the colt? Are you losing your mind?"

"Relax Sam, she's no demon. You know I always practice safe sex. Look just chill I'll go along with the whole thing, get the Colt back and waste the Demons and before you know it we'll all be drinking beers and..."

"Dean, don't be an idiot. Just sit tight and we'll come get you."

"Don't think so Sam. It's been ages since I got invited to a party and besides I'm not really in a sitting tight kinda mood."

"Dean, listen to me, if this girl took the colt that means she knows about you. She obviously wants you at this party for a reason."

"Oh she wants me there for a reason alright Sammy. A real hot and dirty reason if you catch my drift..."

He chuckles again, sounding particularly pleased with himself which has the desired result of making Sam even more pissed at him.

"Dean! Did you not hear the bit about the sacrifice? Think that maybe... uh... I dunno that it could be _you_ on the menu?"

Dean pauses for a moment before frowning in horror.

"Well _now_ I do."

"Dean don't do anything stupid ok, just hang on, we can be there in ten."

"See, Sam, now you're starting to bore me..."

"Dean!"

"Sam, come on don't be such a kill joy. Besides, what's the worst that could happen? I could die? Gee, now why does that _not_ have me peeing in my pants with fear and trembling?"

"Dean this isn't a joke..."

"No? Well the way I see it is I could go to this party, have one hell of a time, have me loads of sex, meet some new friends and the worst that could happen is that my ass could become a sacrifice to some weird ass demon and then maybe you will stop getting on my ass about trying to save me form the nasty ass crossroads demon. Sound like a badass plan to you Sam?"

Sam says nothing just seethes wishing he could reach down the phone and smack his brother in the head.

"Sammy, you still there?"

"Dean, don't do this, this is big man, _real_ big."

Dean grins nodding.

"Yeah I know, man - apparently Jennifer Love's gonna be there, but could you do me a favour? If you're coming too try not to talk to me or anything - it kinda makes _me_ look bad."

"Dean I swear..."

"Gotta go Sam."

"Dean..."

Dean doesn't hear the rest because his finger has abruptly hit the end call button. He shrugs, tugs his collar checking out his reflection one last time before rooting through one of his bags for some supplies. Supplies of which are of course in short - well - supply, the reason being his little brother has run off with them all and he's just rummaging through the last bag in the hope of finding just a small amount of holy water when the door creaks open to reveal his latest conquest standing there ready and waiting for him.

"Whatchya looking for sugar pie?"

He stands up grinning innocently at Eve who is leaning against the door frame, her eyes trailing up and down his form.

"Just you beautiful."

-----------------------

"I'll kill him."

"Sam."

"No seriously Bobby, if we make it out of this, I'm gonna kill him."

"Sam, just calm down,"

Bobby looks up from a very old book he'd been reading while Sam visited the gents.

"Calm down? Calm... Bobby my brother is willingly and cheerfully walking into a trap. This girl he's with - she took the Colt, I mean it's obvious and you think it's a coincidence that she invited him to this party? She's either a demon or a collaborator, Bobby and if he goes along with this he's gonna get himself killed...I mean you said there was gonna be a sacrifice right?"

"Well that's kinda how it looks yeah."

"Well...think about it! It's Dean, Bobby. He's gonna be the sacrifice."

"Whoa, slow down kiddo, how the hell did you come up with that one?"

"Because it makes sense, I mean he's... he's the _'enemy'_. Why else did they wanna lure him there? We gotta go get him Bobby."

Bobby thinks for a minute then pulls out his own phone. He's surprised when Dean actually answers although he sounds a little bored.

"Hey Bobby."

"Dean, listen to me ok? This girl you're with. She's dangerous."

"Sure man, we're on our way now."

"Right, so you can't talk, ok just listen. You need to lose her as soon as you can. You don't know what she can do."

Dean chuckles.

"Think I have a fair idea."

"Ok son, now listen, I mean it. You get away from her as soon as you can, you hear me? That's an order."

Dean grunts unimpressed.

"Hm, yeah whatever. See you later Bobby."

Sam stares at him waiting for a response.

"Well?"

"Pretty much blew me off like I figured he would. At least now I have a good enough reason to kick his ass when I see him."

"Bobby, they're gonna kill him. We have to go get him."

"Sam there's no time. We got work to do if we're gonna bring them down, besides Dean doesn't have the Colt right? And he'll no doubt be gone by the time we get back there. The best thing we can do is figure these spells out, get to this villa, do our thing and hope we can find him in time."

Sam sits down with a huff looking miserable and deflated. His expression changes slightly as he glances around the bar before turning to Bobby.

"Um, Bobby?"

Bobby's nose is back in his book.

"Uh huh?"

"Is this a gay bar?"

"Uh huh."

----------------------

When Dean, Eve and the Impala pull up outside the huge luxury villa they have no idea that they're being watched by Dean's younger brother and old friend. Dean's too busy admiring the plush grounds, the swimming pool on the front lawn, the way the security guards seem to know Eve by name and let them through without even a query. There are people everywhere, obviously rich young things with nothing better to do and no need to do anything other than party and enjoy themselves and while Dean doesn't exactly envy them he can't help but think how great it must be to be that free of care and be completely oblivious to the evil around you.

Eve greets several people as she passes, blowing a kiss at a ridiculously camp twenty something wearing an outfit that could only be described as daring and promising him she'll catch him later. She takes Dean through the doors, past reception and into the massive hall where there are tables upon tables of food and drink, waiters and waitresses holding impossibly large trays with just one hand, people talking, laughing, dancing to the too loud drum and bass and Dean thinks he would kill for some Metallica right about now.

He's surprised how relaxed he feels amongst these people who he has zero in common with and the woman on his arm seems to aid his ability to blend. The drive there had also been oddly relaxing and free of any tension or stress normally associated with accompanying an evil demon worshipper to a party without anything close to ammunition. For some reason he doesn't seem to care that he's walking into extreme danger completely unarmed and unprepared and all he can think about right now is how hot his date is and how perfect she looks on his arm.

Sam and Bobby pop into his head from time to time while Eve is introducing him to some of her 'friends'. They work their way through the crowd, Dean helping himself to canapés carried round by attractive waitresses wearing too short skirts and he finds that he is smiling quite a lot and thinking how lucky he is to have a girl like Eve but then he remembers the conversation over the phone, the Ritual, the so called sacrifice but it all seems so trivial when she looks into his eyes. It's really nothing he can't handle anyway and he's not completely out of it although the champagne they keep plying him with does seem to be going right to his head. He has to keep reminding himself that he needs to figure out a way to get the Colt back without arousing his date's suspicions. The trouble is, every time he starts to think and work through the problem, the problem which really should be a piece of cake to solve, Eve turns to him, looks at him like he's the only guy on earth and does the most unearthly thing with her lips and his and it all seems to drift away, moving down his list of priorities like a trip to the laundry or grocery store.

He decides to put a little distance between the two of them and makes his excuses, explaining his need to relieve himself which isn't a total lie because he's drank quite a bit since he got here.

She fixes her eyes on him and grabs is ass completely devoid of inhibition and he thinks to himself why can't he get dates like her more often and then she kisses him again and he finds it almost intoxicating - he can't get enough of her and when she pulls away he feels the uncontrollable urge to pull her back in, to never leave her side but she whispers in his ear that then when he gets back they're going to get away from the crowds and get themselves a room, some privacy where she's going to do disgusting and unspeakable things to him.

He practically has to crowbar himself away from her and heads off to the gents mentally shaking himself and thinking a cold shower would be really useful right about now.

Once in the safety of a cubicle the sensations ease a little and he feels his sanity returning slightly although his mind his still muddled with champagne and thoughts of her doing 'things' to him. He really, really wants to find out what and he has to bang his head against the wall telling himself to get a grip before fishing his phone out of his pocket and calling Sam.

"Dude, how's it going?"

"About time you called, you got the Colt yet?"

"Nah, but I'm working on it bro'."

"Does she have it?"

"Yeah, she has it. Think she's stashed it in her purse."

"Well then what's the problem? This should be easy for you Dean."

"You know Sam, you're always trying to spoil my fun."

"What's that supposed to mean? Just get the Colt and get the hell outta there Dean. How hard can it be?"

"You know, Sammy, I'm not sure I want to. I mean this Eve chick...she's _really_ hot."

"Dean, that Eve chick is planning on wasting you, do you get that?"

Dean winces conceding the fact disappointedly.

"Yeah, yeah I know, but hell, no one's perfect Sam. And she's really hot."

"Dean what's goin' on man, you need to get outta there."

"I think I'm just gonna hang around a little longer - see what I can find out. Besides, Eve and I - well we're getting a room."

"Dean!"

"Yeah I know - she's awesome. Did I mention that she's hot?"

"Ok man, listen to me - I dunno what's goin' on with you right now but you need to listen to me. Get the Colt and get yourself the hell out of there before it's too late."

"Look Sam, I'm not a complete moron. I was thinkin' that I could let her take me to this room, let her have her way with me and maybe show her some Winchester lovin' huh? You know what I'm talkin' about, Sam? And then when she's all relaxed and sleepy, I'll snake the Colt and wham bam I'm outta there."

"Dean listen to yourself man, she's evil and you're planning on screwing her?"

"Yeah I know man but she's really hot!"

"Dean, has she done somethin' to you - I mean is she messin' with your head?"

Dean shrugs casually.

"Uh, I dunno, probably. Does it matter? Look Sam, the way I see it is if we wanna waste these demons then it'll be easier to do it from the inside and the only way to do that is to go along with it."

"Bullshit, Dean; all that's gonna happen is that you're gonna get yourself killed."

Dean sighs heavily, dramatically and a maybe a little bored.

"You know what, Sam? You keep using that as a reason but I dunno if you've forgotten, but I'm gonna die soon anyway."

"Right. So to hell with prolonging the inevitable, that what you mean?"

"You said it Sam."

"You're acting like an asshole, you know that?"

Dean bristles, feeling his patience wearing thin.

"Look all I'm saying is that I got nothin' to lose right? So where's the harm in taking a few extra risks."

Sam takes a breath trying to calm his rising temper.

"You know, Dean, you may not have noticed, but I haven't exactly given up on you yet. I mean did it ever occur to you that maybe I'd like to use the time we have to work out a solution and that I'm not all that geared up on watching you get yourself killed just cos... well hell you're gonna die soon anyway?"

"Sam."

"Did it ever occur to you that one year is better than nothin', that the more time we have then the better chance I have of finding a way..."

"Did it ever occur to _you, _Sam that I might not want to drag this out? I mean you have any idea what it's like being on death row? And another thing did it ever occur to you that I'd happily end it all right now if it would stop you from doin' somethin' stupid and gettin' yourself killed tryin' to save me!?"

There's a stunned silence on the other end which seems to last minutes not seconds.

"That what this is all about? Goin' on a suicide mission so that I don't get the chance to save your ass? You wanna beat me to the post? You think this is a game Dean? A race?"

"Sam, look, just chill ok? I'm not an idiot; I know what I'm doing."

"That's the problem, Dean, I don't think you do. I think that Eve chick has gotten into your head somehow and you know another thing? I think you _know_ she has but you don't care."

"I told you Sam it doesn't matter. As long as I get the Colt before they sacrifice my ass - _assuming_ that's what they're planning, which we have no proof of by the way - then we'll be laughin'."

"And what if you don't?"

"Well then I guess that's where you come in Sam. But don't worry, it won't come to that."

Sam sighs deeply, almost defeated but not quite.

"Dean, don't do this man. Just get the Colt and get outta there, please? We'll do this thing together like we always do. You go with her and that's it man, you're history. Do you understand? She's going to kill you."

"I'm done with this Sam, Ok? I'm going now."

Dean hangs up without waiting for a response because he doesn't want to hear it. Doesn't want to hear it because he knows Sam's right and he doesn't really want this. Doesn't really want to die and he hadn't really meant the things he'd said to Sam but the heated conversation in the car still niggled at him, still hurt.

_"You know what Dean, go screw yourself."_

Dean had hoped that at the very least the situation would bring them closer rather than drive a wedge between them. He knows that this last year is going to be unbearable if it continues how it has been. He's been losing Sam day by day and sometimes it's enough for him to want to just get it over with and end it now because then maybe it will be easier. Easier for him and for Sam if it just ends now without the build up, without the dragging of time, without the awful anticipation and trying in vain to find a way out. It's not like he's planning on dying but what's the point in self preservation when your fate is sealed?

It's not a death wish but just now and then he thinks that maybe if he goes to his death now with still a little of what they used to have in tact, still something remaining that makes them brothers then maybe it will be ok. He doesn't want to wait until they have nothing but arguments and recriminations and anger and betrayal between them and maybe this way he can leave before the bond they used to have is completely destroyed.

Dean returns his phone to his pocket after switching it off and when he arrives at Eve's side again he's a little concerned to see a slight frown creasing her forehead.

"You ok, sweetheart?"

She turns to him and smiles taking a sip of her champagne.

"Just a headache, how 'bout we find somewhere nice and quiet and you can take my mind off it."

"Sounds great."

He smiles, the argument with Sam forgotten like all the rest.

--------------

"We need to go _now_ Bobby."

"Ok son, you've got me convinced."

"You think it'll help - all that hoodoo crap?"

"Well, we've covered all the exits with that stuff, so I sure hope so."

"You have the exorcism?"

"Right here. You got the other stuff."

Sam checks his bag that's full of weird smelling substances, pouches soaked in that liquid he still can't pronounce and the old faithful - Holy Water.

He nods at the older man concern marring his face, his heart pounding along with his head.

"Well then, let's do it."

----------

Eve takes Dean down several flights of stairs, the further down they go the duller the sounds of the thumping of the bass, the chatter, the laughter until finally there's just the two of them, her giggling and whispering things into his ear. She stops half way down a flight of steps and shoves him forcefully into a wall, kisses him hard then removes his bow tie, untucks his shirt and removes his jacket, discarding it on the floor. She presses herself up close against him, pressing her pelvis against his, before smiling cheekily and running off down the stairs. He grins and follows temporarily forgetting his mission and then meeting her at the bottom he pulls her close nibbling at her lip then nuzzling her neck before pulling away.

She miles teasingly and runs her hand down his chest, stopping at the waist her fingers lingering on the belt of his pants and still keeping her eyes on his she wraps the fingers of her other hand around the door handle, opening it and pushing him through backwards her lips now pressed to his.

He's a little confused when he finds himself being shoved pretty forcefully through the opening, the door slamming shut in his face and his stomach turns sickeningly when he hears the unmistakable sound of a key turning in a lock.

"Hey!"

Reality lands brutally on his shoulders, the endorphins and raging hormones evaporate as the fact that he has been played yet again smacks him full in the face.

He tries fruitlessly to open the door banging his fist on the metallic finish yelling, knowing he won't be answered.

"**Let me out you bitch**!"

He gives the door a few more punches and finishes with a furious kick before turning round huffing annoyed and perhaps a little anxious at what may be in store for him. He shivers a little missing his jacket and turns round to survey the room. It's huge, cold and dark with a medium sized swimming pool in the middle. He frowns, frustrated and wishes for a second that he were a priest so that he could bless the water in the pool and have himself a swim in a shit load of holy water.

--------------------

Sam and Bobby charge through the entrance armed with their various weapons, the herbs, substances holy water, guns loaded with silver, rock salt and plain old fashioned bullets which fortunately they hadn't needed to use on the security guards because two well aimed punches had been sufficient. Once inside the hall Sam fires his gun in the air several times and he's rewarded with an explosion of screams and shouting followed by a stampede for the door which had been pretty much his intention.

He signals to Bobby to go round the outer part of the hall and they meet at the other end and crash through the doors hoping that they'll find their target in time.

-----------------

"Anybody there?"

Dean feels foolish. But the room is so quiet it's making him uncomfortable and he can't help wonder why nothing is happening. He checks the room out for possible exits but finds none, he checks the walls for breaches but there are none; he checks the ceiling for vents but finds nothing.

He's trapped and he knows it and he's lost for ideas of what to do next. Sighing defeated he leans against the locked door and slides down to sit on the cold floor.

-----------------

Bobby and Sam tear through corridor after corridor bumping into people as they go until Bobby grabs one man in his late twenties and slams him against the wall, while Sam looks on in shocked confusion.

"Bobby, take it easy."

He puts a hand on the older man's arm but is shrugged away and ignored, Bobby keeping his eyes fixed on his prey only stopping short of bearing his teeth at the terrified young man.

"Where?"

"What? I dunno..."

Bobby pulls something metallic out of his pocket and presses it on to the man's head. He screams in agony and Sam swears that it isn't human.

"Tell me where."

The man's eyes flash black and he laughs.

"You'll never find them."

------------------------

Dean sits leaning against the wall, eyes closed trying his best to concentrate to focus to work the problem. There has to be a way out because there always is. He's been in worse spots than this he just has to think, to figure something out, but he's distracted and his mind is muddled and confused and not just from the effects of too much champagne. He hears something then, at least he thinks he hears it, or maybe he feels it but whatever it is it's enough to make him open his eyes and sit up, all senses on red alert. That's when he gets the feeling that he isn't alone and feels those familiar prickles running all the way down his spine, his heart rate increasing. He pushes himself to his feet in a defensive stance preparing, listening, eyes scanning the room trying to calm his breathing which is now rapid and shallow. Then something makes his stomach twist.

------------------------------

Sam watches in horrified fascination as Bobby presses the metallic charm harder into the man's head. The skin steams and he cries out in pain once again and Bobby yells at him one more time giving him a rough shake.

"Last chance. Where?"

The man eyeballs him, his jaw set, sweat glistening on his skin but says nothing.

------------------------------

The air in the room suddenly changes, becomes electric, charged, and Dean's fear turns into terror when he sees the black smoke seeping through each of the three walls in front of him. It twists and writhes before coming to settle into three almost shapeless figures, not quite solid and not transparent, physically there but almost not, dark, shimmering, shifting and pulsating, lacking any distinct or fixed form, but then as his eyes adjust to the scene he swears they begin to take shape, almost human but not quite.

Dean remains transfixed, eyes wide, unable to move and then for what seems like an age nothing happens. And then it does.

----------------------------

"Exorcisamus te, omnes in mundus spiritus..."

The man winces and shrinks away in fear and obvious distress as Bobby recites the exorcism from memory.

"Omnes satanica potestas, omnes incursio..."

He screams even louder and more agonised than before.

"No wait, please..."

"Well..."

Bobby pauses, waiting and the man gasps screwing his eyes shut but gives no response.

"Humiliares sub potente..."

He cries out again holding up his hand trying and failing to get away from bobby's grip.

"Alright, alright...downstairs, all the way down. The pool room."

He stares at Bobby waiting for him to let go. Bobby hesitates then his mind made up finishes the exorcism, loud enough to be heard over the demon's screams and waits until the black smoke has disappeared before telling the confused and disorientated young man to run and not look back. The two hunters take off down the stairs wasting no more time.

---------------------

Noise. Unidentifiable, but deafening, and not just the pounding of blood in his ears or the screaming in his head. So much noise. Ear piercing sounds he can't recognise and underneath the screeching an almost undetectable sound of chanting. Deep inhuman sounds, rhythmic, terrifying, getting louder and louder and his eyes scan the room desperately for an exit, for an escape but there is none and he knows that whatever is going to happen next, it's going to be very bad.

A high pitched scream, unearthly, and which could only be described as demonic explodes inside his skull sending him crumbling to his knees, crying out in pain and then without warning he finds himself being flipped on to his back his arms and legs no longer listening to his brain. He's lifted off the ground by an unseen force and the fear is all encompassing as he realises he's no longer in control of his body and then pain impacts his back as he slams brutally into the ceiling arms pinned put to the sides, paralyzed, helpless and he tries to remember whose dumb idea it was to come to Atlantic city in the first place.

---------------

Coming to a halt at the bottom of the flight of stairs, Bobby and Sam stare at the discarded clothing on the floor. Sam fingers the jacket of his brother's tuxedo and gives Bobby a pained look. Bobby stares back his expression unreadable and says nothing. He turns to the door pushing the handle down, shaking it angrily when he finds he's unable to open it. Sam begins to panic.

"Bobby?"

Bobby lifts his gun. The one loaded with bullets not rock salt.

"Ok son, stand back."

Sam grimaces and cocks his head to the side as Bobby turns to him with a grin.

"Always wanted to say that."

Bobby sends several bullets at the lock shattering it and then kicks it open. Time seems to slow down as a terrible, unnatural and scorching heat rushes through the opening, knocking the two hunters off their feet, crashing to the floor their hands instinctively covering their heads as flames rage over the top of them, barely missing their clothing, unbearable heat kissing their now sweat tinged skin. They hold their position for what seems like an age until finally, the flames fall back and Sam hesitantly, fearfully, shaken and confused raises his head.

"**_Bobby_**!"

The older hunter lifts his head and looks through the doorway. He only just has chance to register the scene before he has to make the lightning quick decision to get his ass off the floor, throw himself through the opening and lunge at Sam, grabbing his arms and restraining him, holding him back, refusing to let him go where every ounce of his soul is telling him he must and when Sam screams his brother's name, Bobby has to fight with all of his being not to let go.

---------------

Dean is struggling against the invisible force holding him, every muscle screaming to be released but it's a futile effort. Gazing down at the pool of water below him he thinks gratefully that at least there's something to break his fall if he manages to get free but just when he thinks things couldn't get much worse the shadowy figures step forward and raise their arms to the side, hands outstretched or at least what should have been their hands and the whole room becomes alight with vicious raging flames, greedily licking at the walls, circling the three like a tornado. The chanting becomes more pronounced and the sounds are almost hypnotic as the flames swirl and writhe, covering the walls, before settling to rest in a protective ring around the demons and then finally with an almost majestic beauty, rise up to the edges of the ceiling before rushing to the centre to greet him.

_"Well this is original." _he thinks bitterly.

The sweat seems to appear instantly on his forehead and then all over his body and for a fleeting second he feels a crippling overwhelming tidal wave of fear. Crying out he shuts his eyes to block out the reality of what is about to happen and then as soon as it had come it's gone replaced by a sudden calm, peace and stillness, the noises fading away as if he's under water and nothing can touch him. The present drifts away as serenity washes over him and a song he had heard earlier that week on the radio, springs uninvited but not unwelcome into his head the sharp plucking of the guitar vivid and clear, one of his favourites but not of the type he'd normally listen to, playing just for him in his mind but as distinct and beautiful as if the whole world could hear it.

_"Hey Sammy turn it up, I like this one."_

_"Dude this song is so overplayed. The Pumpkins wrote so many better songs anyhow. You should give them a try."_

_"And why would I wanna torture myself with that emo, self indulgent, suicidal crap? That teenage angst shit's more up your street Sammy."_

_"What and this one isn't angst ridden enough?"_

_"Whatchya talking about? This song's great, a real feel good track."_

_"Dude, did you even listen to the lyrics?"_

_"Sure I did it's about how today is the best day of his life and shit."_

_Sam rolls his eyes not that surprised that his attention deficient brother hadn't managed to get past the first line. He smiled to himself watching his brother hum along occasionally singing, getting the words horribly wrong, but bobbing his head up and down happily._

_Today is the greatest..._

He seems to be hearing the lyrics clearly for the first time and he finally gets the irony and it brings a sardonic smile to his lips. The music plays and the flames gently lick at the edges of his clothing as he feels the weight of his existence melt away little by little. He finds it oddly amusing how he's going to burn to death and then wake up in hell. Even if his life wasn't all that poetic it seems his death will be.

_Can't live for tomorrow, tomorrow's much too long..._

He laughs out loud feeling slightly dizzy and almost euphoric which he supposes isn't necessarily a good thing but then he's about to die so he figures it doesn't matter all that much. He begins to sing softly between the almost hysterical laughter, singing along to the words, the music in his head, drawing him deeper under the water, far, far away from the heat from the light from the pain from the screaming, the constant screaming, someone, a voice he knows screaming his name, screaming it over and over as if they're terrified, furious, as if they're being ripped apart, as if they're being eaten alive by pain itself, as if they're the one who's burning.

_I'll burn my eyes out before I..._

Recognition strikes him like a wave and his eyes fly open as if waking from a dream, surging upwards out of the water, out of the stillness and back into the blinding light and the fear returns enhanced and magnified so that all he knows is fear as he's trapped in the headlights of his brother's gaze. Sam's face is contorted horribly, his mouth open wide and Dean realises it's his brother that's screaming at him, a wall of fire preventing him from reaching the demons from reaching him but he seems unaware of the heat and it's not the fire that's stopping him, it's not the flames restraining him, it's Bobby, his own arms clasped tightly around Sam's, fighting with him, pulling him back. Back. Back.

_"Go back, Sam."_

_Today is..._

The music gets louder and more insistent until it's the only thing he can hear, the only thing he can feel and it takes over everything, mingling with the fear with the terror with his soul and for the first time it all just feels right.

_Can't wait for tomorrow  
I might not have that long _

Relief sweeps over him as he realises the agonising wait is over and soon it will end and soon it will be finished and the music plays on smothering all his senses dragging him into oblivion.

_I tried so hard  
To cleanse these regrets _

He thinks that now it's time for him to let go and he gives his brother one last look, one last glance and tries to tell him everything he should have told him in that look. Tries to tell him that he's sorry, that he's ok, that _it's_ ok, that it isn't his fault, that he's proud of him, that he's grateful, that he's not afraid. That he loves him.

_My angel wings  
Were bruised and restrained_

Sammy just keeps screaming at him though, screaming the word 'no' over and over, and his voice is horribly raw as if the sounds are shredding his insides as they pass through him. He's still fighting and struggling against Bobby's restraining hold and Dean just wants to tell him to stop, to stop fighting and to let him go but then Sam just screams his name so loud it seems to pierce through the haze shattering the illusion, that this is fine, that this is okay and then the flames get that little bit closer and the heat becomes almost unbearable and suddenly the fear has been replaced by indescribable terror although he hadn't thought it possible to be any more afraid than he had been and now he can't seem to remember who he is.

The bravado the fearlessness the devil may care, the Dean Winchester who is afraid of nothing seems light years away and it's all so alien to him now because all he is, is fear and pain, fear and pain that's all he feels and he can't control it any more because it's controlling him and he has an incredible, involuntary urge to cry out to Sam, to his brother for help, to save him, to forgive him and he wants to beg for another chance but he feels the flames begin to scorch his skin, singing the fine hairs on the backs of his hands that are clenched tight, fingernails digging into his palms and he has to fight against the urge to scream in anticipation of unimaginable pain, unimaginable fear; fear of dying, fear of leaving everything that matters behind, fear of waking up in Hell and he bites hard on his lip screwing his eyes shut against the heat and the impending agony and he realises for the first time in his life what his mother must have suffered and he can't contain the sob that escapes.

_Today is..._

"Please...no..."

His breathing becomes rapid then and his heart pounds and can't hold back the awful sounds coming out of him as his muscles contract and writhe trying in vain to break free, trying desperately to get away from the heat, from the fire that's about to consume him and he's so scared, so scared he can hardly breathe, he gasps brokenly his breath coming out sharp and hitched and he forces back another scream between clenched teeth and on hearing his name rip through Sam he forces himself to open his eyes to look one last time into his little brother's and hopes that he will forgive him and he can't help the broken, terrified cry that forces it's way out of his throat and past his lips as he feels the end draw close.

_  
**"Sammy..."**_

_...the greatest..._

That's when he closes his eyes, for the last time, screwing them shut tight against his fate.

_...day..._

That's when the music stops.

_...that I have ever really known._

And that's when the wall on the west side collapses.

TBC

Song lyrics borrowed from "Today" by Smashing Pumpkins. Me? I don't own a thing. Please don't sue. Ha. Thanks for reading. Please call back soon and leave a review. Thanks.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

It suddenly dawns on her that Atlantic City is definitely not her kind of place. Sure she likes to have fun, go out, live life on the edge, cause a little mayhem and raise a little hell but somehow this place is just simply not doing it for her. It could be the noise, the brashness, the hoards of revoltingly happy, exuberant, happy, shouting people or it could be that she ended up here out of necessity rather than choice. It's not that she minds having to do a hard days work but it tends to piss her off slightly when everyone else is having fun and all this place does is piss her off.

It's an irritation, an inconvenience for her that she has to be here but she doesn't really have a great deal of choice. Not being here would mean leaving it to someone else and that is something she can't afford to risk. Relying on the competence of others isn't something she does easily even when the others whose competence that she may be relying on are generally reliable _and_ competent not to mention cute in an adorable kind of way but this time the risks are too great. Unfortunately she is a little short of allies these days but then that's to be expected. Pissing people off has always been something she excels at and a trait she is secretly proud of although in this case she wishes she hadn't been so good at it back in the good old days. If she hadn't been so good at pissing people off back then she wouldn't have to be here in this skin crawlingly young and lively, wild and wacky shit hole surrounded by brainless, 'we're totally mad!' moronic fools who truly believe that they're living it to the full.

They're the same people that suck up to their boss, or go into work boasting about how hung over they are, what totally crazy up for it people they are and then hand in tommorrow's figures today because they're really a suck ass and that sticker on their Mac that says "You don't have to be mad to work here but it helps," should really read: "I'm a mindless, shit eating dullard who thinks getting wasted one night a month is 'doing it large'."

So no she doesn't like it here, yes she wishes she hadn't done so much pissing off and no she won't be coming back. Ever.

Of course she still has a few friends living under the radar trying to live out normal lives and go undiscovered. Not everyone wants to fight and not everyone wants this war and fortunately for her there are still a few sympathisers out there who had helped her gather the intel she needed. It had been a pain in the ass not to mention risky but she had succeeded in confirming the details and arrangements in good time. It had surprised her when she had first received the news. Surprised because the plan was amateurish at best, sloppy and ill thought out but then she had discovered who was involved and it hadn't been all that surprising after all.

She had met Eve some weeks ago. The naive little fool had attempted to try and recruit her to her cause and she had practically fallen off her bar stool laughing. She had heard many things about her and people like her and the stories she had been told always made her roll her eyes with boredom and disbelief. Disbelief that anyone could be so foolish as to attempt this kind of an alliance. It never ceases to amaze her how incredibly despicable and traitorous human beings could be. This woman had tried to convince her to assist her in her plan - a plan that would bring about countless deaths but she hadn't once stopped to think about the repercussions, so intent was she on gaining power.

They say that power corrupts but this girl was already corrupt. In fact it wouldn't have been overly harsh to say she was a ruthless, psychotic mercenary with little morality and even less of a conscience. A demon in the making she had thought at the time. She had been able to see past the ambition though and it was clear to her that Eve, though intellectual and smart possessed very little common sense, a misplaced arrogance and a total lack of knowledge of how the real world worked. She was a child in comparison to some others she had heard of and her ignorance would have been almost endearing had she not come across as such a self serving, manipulative psychopath. She had tried to warn her about the folly of her little plan, told her to get away from those already involved and change her ways before it was too late; attempted to convince her that the stories she had heard were lies and that the fate of most so called collaborators was, on the whole a sad and sticky end.

Eve had laughed though. Laughed in that haughty little rich girl way of hers and she had been tempted to knock her on her skinny little ass and splatter her cute little nose across her perfect face but she hadn't, she had left the bar without another word because she was bored now and had work to do.

She considers it possibly useful to be aware of her adversary's weaknesses although not essential as she doubts it will be that much of a challenge. The scheme had been hurriedly pulled together using all the wrong players, the wrong timing and the wrong location. If she had been planning a demon resurrection, ascension or whatever she would chosen somewhere like Seattle or maybe Kansas. And as for their ridiculously predictable choice of a sacrifice - she figures that she could have called that one from a mile away.

Unfortunately, for them and fortunately for her she happens to hold the cards and knows a hell of a lot more about the sacrificial lamb than they do. This she thinks is probably their biggest and dumbest mistake. You simply do not mess with that particular clan - anyone who is anyone could tell you that. It's stupid, short sighted and just plain suicidal. Not that she can't see what an excellent sacrifice he would make of course, she has eyes, a woman's eyes and although he could be a little taller, she can quite clearly see why Eve and her little play mates chose him.

Because he is quite clearly the obvious choice - everything about him points to that. His character, his physique, his looks, his background, his history and of course most importantly his soul and it is each of those things why, had she been in Eve's shoes and actually wanted to bring back that sick bastard that had made her life hell she wouldn't have touched the guy with a ten foot piece of evergreen. Some things are just not meant to be meddled with and Azazel had learned that although it had been a second too late for him. Eve and her clan however aren't even in the same league and so she had arrived at Atlantic City feeling bored irritated and ready to put an end to it and get out of there as soon as possible. Of course if she manages to score a few points with the baby of the clan then it might not be that bad a job after all.

Getting into the party hadn't been the problem but the obscenely large house and it's maize of corridors had posed a problem in finding the spoilt little brat. It had annoyed her because she'd had to play nice and seduce some schmuck who was way too short for her not to mention too hairy to find out where the little tramp had headed off to. Downstairs with some guy he'd told her and once again she'd found herself rolling her eyes in frustration at the pathetic neediness of human males when it came to a pretty face and a seductive tongue. Not that she can really blame him. Eve is a little hottie and not to mention talented - in a way - but hunters are supposed to know better, especially when they're in the middle of a job.

She'd got to the point of almost giving up and returning to the ground floor when the smell of something burning had drifted under her nose. It hadn't taken long to trace the source of the smell and that is why now she is stood in a dark storage room several floors below ground level, eyeing her prey who is sat apparently unperturbed, cross legged, eyes closed in the middle of some cute little pattern drawn in ash on the floor. She'd stood watching her for at least a minute before the eyes had opened to meet hers.

She pauses in thought for a moment before questioning the woman now staring, slightly amused up at her.

"Is that supposed to be a devil's trap?"

Eve laughs and stands facing her before taking a few careful steps forward, now free of the unidentifiable shape, little bundles of straw or something of the like, burning gently, positioned at possibly strategic points around the perimeter.

"Do I look like a complete moron? A devil's trap? I mean it's not even a pentagram, are you nuts?"

She shrugs unimpressed.

"It's been a while. I never paid that much attention to all that mumbo jumbo."

"Maybe you should have."

She sighs.

"Whatever."

Eve snorts and cocks her head to the side in a patronising way.

"It's a channelling circle. I'm just lending a hand is all."

She can't help but frown then as she realises she's a little late for the party.

"It's happening already? Where?"

Eve frowns slightly, an arrogant smirk on her lips.

"Why would I tell you?"

She laughs then and jerks her head to the right.

"It's in the other room, but don't bother, you're too late already."

It pisses her off that her heart begins to race, panic obliterating the calm and obvious in her voice.

"You don't know what you're doing. This demon you're raising - he will eat you alive."

Eve looks unconvinced.

"Now why would he do that? He'll be in my debt. Besides I am here to serve him."

She can't help but laugh at the painfully naive statement.

"You're insane you know that. Totally whacko. I'm talking, screw loose, bullet short of a round, sandwich short of a picnic, last line short of an exorcism, point short of a pentagram. And your little Scooby gang? It's pathetic. At least Azazel was original, I mean giving humans supernatural abilities? Please, that is so last season."

"Azazel was weak, and his plan was flawed."

"And this one is better how? At least Azazel was a professional. His plan took years to devise and cost him dearly. You and your little buddies are just playing at it. It's over Eve. You can't beat me, we both know that. Just hand me the Colt and maybe I'll let your traitorous little ass live."

"Traitorous? Bit like the pot calling the kettle black isn't it?"

Her patience runs out then and she takes a step forward almost hissing at the young woman in front of her, because she needs to end this now.

"You should watch your mouth little girl."

She's a little taken by surprise then when Eve grabs her hair in pure bitch fight style, spins her and slams her face first into the wall, before addressing her, her sing song tone almost playful.

"Ruby. Ruby. Ruby. Did I hit a sore spot? Oh, I've heard all about you, you duplicitous little whore."

Ruby grins and jerks her head into the collaborator's face causing her to stumble backwards crying out in pain. She follows the blow with a hard punch to the cheekbone, knocking her to the floor. She stands there breathing heavily staring down at the girl writhing on the floor holding her nose which is now bleeding profusely.

"Last chance honey bun. Up to you."

Eve surprises her then by flipping onto her back and kicking out hard at her knees knocking her off balance, her back impacting hard on the cold floor. It only takes her a split second to get to her feet however but unfortunately it's not quick enough to avoid the inevitability of coming face to face with the Colt. A good effort she thinks to herself and decides to give the girl a little respect and allow her a few seconds of believing she's got the upper hand. They circle, eyeballing each other fiercely; Eve's hand outstretched, the Colt pointed at the demon's chest, a smirk on her lips, while Ruby wears a snarl that would scare the hounds of hell.

Then Eve opens her mouth possibly to start a long and tedious monologue or something but Ruby really doesn't have the time because any minute now her enemy or rather one of her enemies is about to be dragged out of hell and she reckons he really isn't going to be all that pleased when he sees her so she makes her mind up which move to use on the pathetic and not even worthy opponent and lets fly with her foot knocking the weapon out of Eve's hand.

Before Eve can barely register shock, Ruby grabs her wrist twisting it painfully behind her back and smashes her into the wall, face first in a mirror of her own actions only seconds ago.

Eve grimaces and struggles a little but remains calm.

"Ruby. Ruby let me go."

Ruby laughs but at the same time winces, her face tense with concentration.

"Let me go, Ruby."

Her voice is calm, soothing, hypnotic and her words seem to make perfect sense as if they're the only truth remaining and she loosens her grip just a little still laughing hard, trying to resist.

"Ruby. Let me go."

She stops laughing then, exhales, relief washing over her as she releases her prey, suddenly caring little about the consequences and Eve slowly turns to face her, her eyes shining and beautiful, impaling her with their strength and truth.

"That's better. Now, see that gun over there."

She nods her head towards the Colt lying on the floor some feet away.

"Go pick it up and shoot yourself in the head."

Ruby turns to look at the weapon, one of the few things that could destroy her, finds herself locked in thought for a lot longer than makes her comfortable, she considers the request, to end her existence and it feels so inviting, so right but not quite and only just short of perfect. A piercing moment of clarity strikes her and she slowly turns her head back to Eve, her mind now her own. Her eyes sparkle and she grins mischievously tilting her head to the side.

"Nah."

The next thing Eve feels is Ruby's hands on her shoulders as she is spun around so her back is against Ruby's chest. A hand moves to her forehead and jerks it to the right. There is a sharp crack and then nothing.

Ruby releases the young woman allowing her to slump lifelessly to the floor. She stares blankly at the limp body at her feet, neck now broken mouth open in surprise.

"Sorry, sweetheart, that Obi Wan crap doesn't seem to be all that effective with me."

She stoops to retrieve the Colt, flicks her hair over her shoulder and heads for the door a slight swagger in her walk grumbling irritably.

"Humans are such amateurs."

-----------------------------------

She can sense the demons now as their energy and power increase. They're not far but she can't seem to find the room. She seems to be going around in circles down corridor after corridor now running not walking, fear increasing her speed. No matter where she goes she still feels the presence and it's grows stronger with every second. But there are no doors. She comes to a halt staring at a wall painted white, no entrance, but with certainty that her prey lies on the other side. Fortunately for Ruby she is a professional and a good hunter and always comes prepared unlike some people she could mention. Reaching inside the inner pocket of her jacket she pulls out a small pouch tied with string. Examining the contents she makes a decision and swaps them into her left hand. Setting her jaw with a look of fierce determination, she sends her fist crashing into the wall grunting slightly with the impact, leaving a small hole in the plaster.

She pulls some dry grass like substance out of the bundle and sets it carefully in the hole in the wall then retrieves a small vial of liquid from the pouch. Her hands shaking slightly she pours the tiniest amount of liquid on to the grass and then lights it with a match from her pocket. As soon as the grass catches she fists the pouch complete with it's contents and takes off at a sprint down the corridor diving for the ground as soon as she hears the blast.

She feels the heat, she hears the crash of falling stone, and she feels the tremors which last only seconds. She lifts her head off the floor, hair in her eyes marring her vision, breathing heavily she gets to her feet and goes to finish the job.

------------------------------------

Dean opens his eyes to see his fate alter. He sees the rubble, the dust and the smoke. He sees the hole in the wall and he sees a figure step through. He thinks it's a she because of the way she walks and the long hair and the fact that she is holding herself in a way that says 'do not mess with me or I will bust your balls.'

His eyes remain fixed on her as the dust and smoke clear and he sees that in one hand she's carrying a knife and in the other a gun. A gun he thinks he recognises.

Then suddenly time seems to slows to an unnatural rate.

Ruby steps forward through the wall of fire, only slightly irritated by the burning heat. The demon Luvart doesn't have time to register her presence as she appears at his rear and plunges her blade into the back of where his neck would be if he had a neck. The first of three produces a soul tearing scream and immediately loses shape swirling and writhing around the room before disappearing in a burst of fire and ash into the ceiling. Ruby doesn't watch the light show. She lifts the Colt and aims it to the right sending a demon destroying bullet into the form of Olivier. The same thing happens but again she doesn't see as she turns her attention to Belial.

The third demon has just enough time to hiss his distaste and disgust at her, in a tongue that none of the humans in the room can decipher. A horrid torrent of hatred and fire, dense and suffocating as if the sound was more that just noise, bringing pain to every ear in the room, until it is stopped abruptly by the sound of a gun firing. The bullet pierces through the air as it spins towards it's target, as if it's sole purpose was this, as if it had waited an eternity to be pointed in the direction of this demon, as if it had a mind of it's own and was determined to reach it's destination and fulfil it's only reason for being.

The second it makes contact the atmosphere seems to ignite with inhuman screams, with sulphur, with blood and with hate. The room shakes and the air becomes toxic as three humans and one demon watch in awe as a tornado of fire, smoke, ash and sulphur circles the room, forcing them to the floor covering their faces against the seemingly endless onslaught until finally completing it's final act of chaos, it shoots upwards above their heads and disappears forever.

In the same moment that Belial ceases to exist the flames diminish, the air clears and gravity resumes as one hunter falls gracelessly from the ceiling, cold, comforting water rushing upwards to embrace him, obliterating tears of relief and gratitude before they have chance to fall.

------------------------

_"Hey, Dean, what you doin'?"_

_Bobby sat heavily next to him on the couch causing it to sag which meant he had to shift his weight. He glanced up at the man he was supposed to call Uncle but had stopped doing so since he turned ten. Bobby wasn't his Uncle he was just a friend although he did like him a lot. He was far too old to call him Uncle anyway even if Sammy still did. He glanced up briefly at the man feeling slightly annoyed at having his study time interrupted._

_"Homework."_

_"Homework, huh? What, your dad suddenly decide an education might be a good idea after all?"_

_He looked up again and pulled a face._

_"Not that kind of homework, stupid."_

_"Hey, remember who you're talkin' to young man."_

_He tensed a little. He hated being called that because it usually meant he was in trouble. He hunched his shoulders slightly and kept his eyes in his book._

_"Sorry."_

_Bobby sighed and shifted a little closer._

_"What kind of homework then?"_

_He lifted the book so that Bobby could see the cover._

_"It has everything you need to know about guns and ammunition."_

_"Really."_

_"Yeah, Dad wants me to have it finished__ by the time he gets back."_

_His Dad had left early that morning to take Sammy to the hospital because he was holding his stomach and crying a lot. His dad thought it might be appendicitis and he had got really scared and begged his dad to let him go too. His dad had said he might be in there a long time and it would be boring for him and so he had left him at Bobby's. He always seemed to be leaving him these days ever since **it** happened. It was as if he didn't trust him anymore and no matter how hard he tried and how much he promised to be better it didn't seem to make a difference._

_"But you said I wasn't ever to leave Sam."_

_"Dean, Sam will be fine, I'll be with him."_

_"But I want to come too. He's my brother - I want to be with him."_

_"Like I said, we could be a long time. You know how you bore easily, son. You'll be better off with Bobby. I'll call you as soon as I can."_

_And then he had left. Again._

_Bobby grunting brought him back to the present._

_"Dean don't you think you're a little young to be handling weapons."_

_"Dad says I need the practice. Especially after what happened..."_

_He looked up at Bobby realising what he had said and clamped his mouth shut. Bobby didn't seem too bothered._

_"You talkin' about the Shtriga?"_

_"You know about that?"_

_He felt scared suddenly, that Bobby knew his dirty secret._

_"Your Dad told me it attacked Sammy and he didn't get to it in time." _

_"If I'd have been more experienced I could have shot it myself. But..."_

_"But what?"_

_"I hesitated. Sam nearly got killed because I wasn't experienced enough."_

_"Dean, come one, it wasn't your fault."_

_He felt really angry then because Bobby didn't know the full story and he didn't know what the hell he was talking about. He stood up and threw the book on the floor because he was really mad._

_"YOU'RE WRONG! You don't know nothing! I... I wasn't prepared. If it wasn't for Dad, Sammy would've been killed."_

_"Is that what he told you?"_

_Bobby just looked at him from where he sat on the couch. He'd expected him to yell at him for throwing a fit but he didn't, which caught him off guard so he sat back down again feeling a bit stupid._

_"He didn't have to." _

_"Dean, listen to me."_

_"Don't say it Bobby. Just Don't."_

_That was when the nightmares started again. It had taken him a month to block it all out and forget about it and now Bobby had brought it all up again. He woke up crying as always because the Shtriga had killed Sammy and he hadn't saved him and his Dad left and never came back not ever. Bobby must have heard him screaming because he was already at his side trying to calm him down but he didn't want to calm down he just wanted to forget. He pushed the man away from him and shouted at him to leave him alone but Bobby wouldn't leave._

_"Take it easy, kid, okay?"_

_"NO! GO Away!"_

_"I can't do that, son."_

_"I killed him. I killed Sam."_

_He was shouting really loud, so loud his throat hurt, but Bobby didn't shout back._

_"Dean, it was just a dream."_

_"You don't understand. I left him. I left him alone so I could play on some stupid arcade games."_

_"Dean, I know what happened. Your Dad already told me."_

_"That's why he left. That's why he always leaves. Cos he's mad at me."_

_His voice went quiet then, probably because his throat hurt._

_"Dean."_

_Bobby didn't get mad and for some reason it just made him even madder so he started shouting again._

_"And now you're gonna leave right? Well go on then, what are you waiting for?"_

_"Dean, why would I leave?"_

_"Cos I'm a screw up!"_

_"Alright, that's enough."_

_Bobby shifted forward and took hold of his arms and he tried really hard to push him off, he fought so hard but Bobby was much bigger than him and somehow managed to trap his arms against his chest so he couldn't move. He must have struggled and wriggled against Bobby's grip for ages before he eventually tired and couldn't fight anymore and that was when he realised he was crying and that Bobby was rocking him, holding him tightly against his chest and then he couldn't stop, he just kept on crying and crying because he didn't understand why Bobby was still here when his Dad kept on leaving him. _

-----------------------------

The flames are gone now and the room is eerily quiet and Sam is on his knees his face wet with tears and his throat raw from screaming. Bobby still has hold of him but the grip has loosened because the threat has vanished now but he can't stop shaking. He makes eye contact for several long seconds with his brother who has emerged from beneath the surface, head and shoulders just above the water, his face a picture of shock, terror, regret and sorrow. Satisfied his brother isn't going to die anymore he turns his head away as the grief is replaced with anger. He wipes away the wetness with a trembling hand and allows Bobby to help him to his feet as Ruby strides over to him a smug expression on her face.

They say nothing for a few seconds, just stare at each other then she hands him the Colt and he nods.

"Ever thought of replacing him with a dog?"

Ruby jerks her head towards Dean who is trying his hardest to climb out of the pool and then Sam finds his voice.

"It's crossed my mind on occasions."

He takes the gun and smiles uncertain, hesitant but with as much gratitude he can muster.

"Why?"

"Why?"

She cocks an eyebrow.

"You haven't met the creep they were trying to resurrect have you?"

Sam shakes his head frowning.

"Let's just say he and I don't exactly get along. Centuries old argument. Actually I can't even remember who started it, but I'm guessing it was probably me."

Sam winces, disturbed at her cheeriness, her flippancy but offers another nod anyway and Ruby grins cheekily at him before turning on her heel disappearing through the hole in the wall.

Sam watches her leave, confused, bemused, and unsure of what to think anymore until he's interrupted by the sound of water splashing and a certain sibling's voice.

"Um, guys? A little help here?"

----------------------------

The three hunters had managed to find their way out of the house via a back door away from the crowds of still frightened and panic stricken party guests. They'd seen Eve's body on the floor and figured that now would be a good time to get the hell out of the city before the police got hold of the hotel camera footage of Dean entering a room with her on his arm. The Impala had been parked up front amongst all the commotion and despite Dean's protests, Bobby had convinced the two younger hunters that they should leave discreetly in his car and he would have a friend pick up the Impala later. Dean hadn't liked ithe idea of leaving his baby behind, but Bobby had shot him a look that told him he was in no position to argue. Sam had simply seethed and said nothing.

Now as they make their hasty exit from the city, the atmosphere in the car is excruciating. Sam is riding shot gun and Dean sits huddled in the back shivering wishing he'd retrieved the jacket to his tux before leaving, but he doesn't have the balls right now to ask Bobby to turn the heating up. It occurs to him that things couldn't possibly suck any louder than they do right now. Despite cheating death, again, Sam is more pissed with him than he can remember and Bobby - he is pissed too but it's harder to tell how much.

When they finally arrive at a cheap motel far enough away from Atlantic City to be considered a safe retreat, the time passed doesn't seem to have dampened Sam's temper any, which Dean discovers when he is hauled out of the back seat of Bobby's car and slammed forcefully against the side before he'd even had chance to get his bearings.

Sam glares at him for a few seconds and he stares back uncomfortably as he senses Bobby shooting him an equally ferocious glare from a few feet away. Sam looks him up and down probably checking for injuries but miraculously there aren't any, save a little singed hair which doesn't seem to bother Sam as he shoves Dean away angrily. He turns his back, takes a few steps away before spinning back around to face his brother whose eyes he barely recognises but then his own are clouded with fury and fear and anguish.

"You stupid, selfish, arrogant..."

He turns away again before slamming his fist into the side of the car. Bobby says nothing just silently observes, his expression unreadable but then is forced to act when Sam suddenly turns to his brother and lunges for him apparently about to do something uncharacteristically violent only caught in time by the eldest of the three's strong arms. He struggles a little but Bobby holds him firm and Bobby's the only one who spots the irony. It's been little over an hour since he was restraining the youngster from trying to walk through fire in order to save his brother's life and now it's all he can do to prevent him from giving the still soggy idiot of a hunter a concussion. Dean backs up slightly, eyeing Sam warily and at the same time trying his best to avoid eye contact with Bobby.

"What the hell is **_wrong with you_**!?"

Sam's yells, the exertion hurting his bruised throat but ignores it and shrugs the older hunter of him so he can use his arms to emphasise his point in the way Sam always does.

"Just what - WHAT were you thinking Dean? You think that it makes you look cool huh, bro? You think it's honourable? Impressive?"

He emphasises his words with a hard shove causing Dean to stumble backwards only just managing to stay upright.

"Sam..."

Sam cuts him off stabbing a finger towards his chest.

"NO, Dean you don't get to speak, you're done talking. I just nearly lost my brother; I nearly had to watch you DIE, on the fucking ceiling of some house surrounded by fire."

He stops to take a breath, it hitches as he inhales and he can't hide the break in his voice no matter how hard he yells.

"Have you any idea what that was like, Dean, have you? Seeing you there like that? Like...like...Jess? Have you any IDEA?!"

He deals Dean another shove and raises his voice even more although Dean hadn't thought it possible.

"All because you're trying to be this care free, give a shit asshole who thinks he's fooling everyone with his bullshit. Well, I hope you're happy Dean. I hope you're happy that you succeeded in pissing me off AGAIN and fulfilling your weekly stupid asshole stunt quota and I hope you're_ fucking_ proud of yourself."

He grabs Dean by the shirt and once again shoves him and this time the older of the two loses his balance. Dean lands painfully on the hard floor and stares up at his little brother who stares back breathing hard his eyes bright and furious.

"Sammy, listen..."

"I'm done LISTENING Dean, all I ever do is listen to you but you NEVER listen to me. Not _ever _and this time it nearly got you killed you _asshole_."

His voice breaks again and he turns away, while Dean takes the opportunity to push himself to his feet.

"Sam."

He turns back round and starts on his brother again his voice low now but increasing in volume and force.

"What? You gonna tell me that this is how it's supposed to be? How you're entitled to do as you please? That it doesn't **_matter_** if you die? That it's tough? Isn't that what you wanna say to me huh, _bro_?"

The fury and intensity of his brother's voice makes him flinch slightly but then more so as towards the end of his tirade, Sam deals him a shove and a smack in the shoulder and finally another to his head. Dean backs off, visibly shaken and unable to hide the hurt in his eyes which apparently goes unnoticed as suddenly Sam practically growls, takes another purposeful step closer to his brother, Dean's silence fuelling his rage and this time Bobby steps in pulling him back not giving him a chance to raise the fist that is already clenched.

The three men remain frozen in the agonising moment which seems to last an age until the silence is broken by Bobby's gruff voice.

"Sam, come on son. You don't wanna do this."

Sam breathes in sharply, his eyes flicker and he frowns and Dean can see the agony just beneath the anger in his baby brother's eyes and now he cannot move or stop the tears from coming.

Bobby leads the youngest of the three away, towards the motel check in leaving Dean standing alone, shaken, still damp and shivering but ignoring the tears in his eyes, his heart pounding, the sick feeling in his stomach increasing with every second. He moves to lean against Bobby's car because he doesn't trust his legs right now and he feels so cold and all he wants is to run far and fast but his feet seem to be weighed down to the floor. He swallows heavily, his chest tightening and tries to fight the tremors that have already started.

He wonders bitterly how he got here. He hadn't meant for it to go this far, hadn't meant to alienate his brother, hadn't meant to antagonise Bobby, hadn't meant to push the only two people left in his sorry assed life away, but then again maybe he had.

Maybe this was all he knew. Maybe if he could be alone then it would be easier. Maybe when his year was up it would be less painful to walk into Hell if his brother wasn't at his side still trying to find a way to save him. Maybe he could accept his fate with some dignity if he didn't have to look into his brother's heartbroken, lost and accusing eyes as they screamed at him:

_"How could you do this to me?"_

Abandoning Sam now would be easier than abandoning him later but even so it tears at his heart almost sending him to his knees and now he has never felt so alone.

Some ten minutes later Bobby emerges from the motel and his stomach drops in response. He watches, fearful as the older man stalks up to him his eyes furious but stands his ground trying not to look as scared as he feels. Bobby says nothing though just gives him a look that speaks a thousand words to Dean. Words like: 'You went too far this time,' and: 'How could you do this to your brother,' and: 'I'm done with you,' but loudest of all: 'You let me down.' He doesn't watch as Bobby empties the trunk of the bags that Sam had sensibly packed in anticipation off making a quick getaway and dumps them in front of Dean before walking around to the driver's side.

"You goin' somewhere Bobby?"

Bobby stops and steps towards him his face inches away from Dean's but Dean just stares straight ahead.

"I have a job to do and I figure right now it'd be best for all of us if I did it as far away from _you_ as possible."

Dean's head snaps to face Bobby and he can't hide the hurt in his eyes.

"Bobby I..."

"Save it, Dean. Just Don't. I don't wanna hear it. I've sorted the two of you a room and left some cash so you can stay here as long as you need, assuming Sam wants you anywhere near him right now. As for me, I sure as hell am not gonna stick around just to watch you get yourself killed. You're on your own with that son."

Bobby says no more, just hands him the spare key to their room and gets into his car driving away and revving the engine a little louder than necessary.

Dean watches him leave, standing alone again with nothing to lean his weight on and he listens to the sounds of someone else leaving him, abandoning him and deserting him and he knows it's no more than he deserves. He should have known it was only a matter of time before Bobby ran out on him. You could only expect so much of someone and maybe this time he had pushed too hard. He's been pushing for as long as he can remember. Pushing people away from him is what he does best, it's what he does. He lets them down and he pushes them away and it should never really be a surprise to him when they do actually up and leave. He silently mocks his own self pity and tells himself to get a grip but his brain seems to have other ideas as it allows a single tear to escape and roll down his cheek reminding him of how he had hurt his brother so badly he had come close to decking him and he wants to allow more to fall but he doesn't deserve that so he scrubs the rest away before turning his gaze to the floor and closing his eyes, feeling ashamed and alone and hating himself just that little bit more.

----------------------------

_The fifth was Bobby and like all the others he probably deserved that too._

TBC

This chapter would have been longer but in the end it worked out better ending here so I split it which means the next chap is nearly finished so sorry about the evil ending but hopefully it won't be long until the next is up.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8 **

**"**Sam, you need to calm down son."

Sam plops down on to one of the beds in the room that they had just requested, heart racing, head still pounding with adrenaline unsure of whether to feel angry or guilty. He'd been so fired up he hadn't noticed that Bobby had booked just one room with two beds while he stood next to him at the check in, staring into space tapping his fingers impatiently on the desk.

"Why, Bobby? Why the hell should I?"

"Because you're gonna have a coronary, that's why."

Bobby sits opposite on a battered and possibly unsafe chair a few feet in front of Sam.

"I told him Bobby, I warned him, we both did and he just went ahead and did it anyway. Like he didn't care, like it didn't matter."

"Hey, I'm not saying you shouldn't be mad at him. Hell, I could quite easily sock him one myself. Which is precisely why I'm not gonna be hangin' around."

Sam looks up eyes wide, his brow twitching, a hint of panic flickering across his suddenly very young looking face.

"What? You're leaving? Bobby, you can't."

Bobby leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, eyes stern as he fixes them on the young man opposite.

"The two of you need to sort this out and quick. You can't do that with me hangin' around."

"Sort it out? Bobby I don't even wanna look at him right now."

Sam looks away running a hand through his hair and wrinkles his nose at the smell of soot, reminding him of the fire, the heat and the horror of seeing his brother about to meet the same fate as the mother he cannot remember and the love of his life who he will never forget.

"I know how you feel, but it'll pass. You're angry right now and that's understandable, but just give yourself some time and the two of you will be fine. As for me, if I have to have a conversation with that boy I'm afraid I may say or do somethin' I'll regret. Your brother's in bad shape, Sam and the last thing he needs is me yelling at him."

Sam smiles a little.

"Funny, cos I think that's exactly what he needs."

Bobby reaches across and taps Sam's knee affectionately.

"What he needs is his little brother to remind him that he's still here."

"I dunno if I can, Bobby."

Bobby sighs wearily and moves to sit at the youngest hunter's side, nudging his shoulder with his own, in what he hopes is an encouraging and comforting gesture.

"Sure you can. He's your brother, of all people you're the one who knows him best. Me? All I can do right now is lay into him and I really don't wanna do that. The kid's had plenty of that from your Daddy."

Sam looks at him frowning a little.

"I dunno what to do with him Bobby. And you...well you always seem to. Know that is."

"Right now kiddo, I'm at a loss."

Sam looks away disappointed and feeling just a little bit abandoned. It doesn't go unnoticed by the older man who places a strong hand on the back of his neck, startling Sam enough for him to turn back, searching the wise but fading eyes for some glimmer of hope. Bobby winks at him, his expression unmoving.

"Hey, I'll still be around if you need me. It's not like I'm ditchin' ya or nothin'."

Sam looks at his feet, tears stinging in his eyes, for not the first time that day and Bobby gives him a gentle shake.

"I just figure the two of you need to work this out on your own. And besides, I really gotta head up north. I have a friend who needs my help with somethin'. Shouldn't be a problem but I can't let him down."

Sam nods trying to understand but unable to tear his eyes away from his feet, causing Bobby to sigh, saddened, his heart aching for the boy who he wishes he could just whisk away, along with his brother and make everything alright.

"Trust me kiddo, it's for the best. And it's only for the time being. If you boys need me, I'll be here. You got that?"

He gives the young man's neck a squeeze and Sam smiles, glancing up at his old friend.

"Thanks Bobby. I just...I don't know what to do anymore. I thought it couldn't get any worse but it seems that every day I'm proved wrong."

"You'll do what you always do. You'll keep going. Don't give up on him son. He needs you now more than ever."

"I've no intention of giving up on him, Bobby. It's just that right now, all I wanna do is pound his head into the nearest wall."

Bobby laughs, smacking him lightly on the shoulder.

"Well then, maybe you should take a leaf out of my book and keep your distance for a while huh?"

Sam nods frowning, eyes flickering.

"Yeah. Maybe."

Sam watches Bobby leave. Hears a muffled exchange of words between the old man and his brother drift in through the open window, hears the sound of the engine revving, wheels on dirt but what he doesn't hear is the sound of his brother's heart breaking under the weight of being abandoned yet again.

-----------------------------------------

It's the cold that forces him inside in the end. Inside is the last place he wants to be and the last place he thinks he'll be welcome. His shirt is still clinging to him though and he thinks he'll take whatever shit he has to just to feel warm again although he wonders if that will ever happen. The door creaks as he opens it causing him to flinch as he didn't want his entrance to be announced. He wordlessly drops the bags on the floor his eyes fixed on Sam who is sat on a small, filthy looking couch at the far end of the room, his lap top resting on a table in front of him, the only sound the tapping of his fingers on the keys. Sam doesn't look up, his focus remains fixed on the screen, eyebrows furrowed into a frown, frustration, exhaustion and anger betrayed only slightly by the threat of tears in his eyes.

He watches for a few moments before daring to speak.

"Looking for somethin' Sammy?"

Sam looks up, eyes still blazing although they're red and glistening now and Dean doesn't have to use his powers of deduction to figure out why.

"You're kidding me, right?"

"Sammy, listen..."

"It's _Sam_." He spits the words out with such venom Dean can't help but recoil; Sam may as well have just hit him, but he tries to shrug it off with a lopsided grin.

"Hey, you'll always be Sammy to me."

"I don't think so." Sam stands and takes a step towards him his eyes cold and empty.

"You don't get to call me that anymore. In fact I'd prefer it if you didn't call me anything."

Dean doesn't notice the fraction of discomfort in Sam's eyes in response to the hurt sparkling in his own, all he sees is the anger and the betrayal and the knowledge that he has failed his little brother. Again.

He swallows thickly and shakes his head.

"Sam, I'm sorry..."

Dean's voice is raw and fractured and it's almost enough for Sam to fold, but the anger and the terror at nearly losing his brother far too soon is still gnawing at him and is enough for him to keep up his defences, keep Dean at arms length.

"I don't wanna hear it. It's meaningless."

"Sam, please..."

Sam takes another step forward all the time keeping his eyes fixed on Dean's, and he's a little surprised and almost proud that he actually manages to pull it off without breaking.

"Right now, Dean, I don't wanna look at you, I don't wanna talk to you, I don't wanna hear anything you have to say, just go. Get out of my sight."

"Sam..." Dean's voice is barely a whisper and he sounds so broken and pleading but Sam somehow manages to summon his inner S.O.B. - one of many traits he has his father to thank for - and doesn't falter.

"Go. As in away from _me_. _**Now**_."

Dean nods, the tears in his eyes reflecting the soft lamp light, the lids reddened against the cold, pale skin and as he turns and walks away from his little brother a part of him can't help but hope to hear Sam call him back. To tell him to wait, tell him that he didn't mean it, tell him that he forgives him, that he doesn't hate him and to turn those puppy eyes on him and give him that look that tells Dean that he just wants to be held and Dean thinks that he would hold him for as long as he wants and give him the biggest chick flick moment of his life if he would just give him one more chance.

He closes the door behind him and looks out into the night which isn't really night anymore but there's still some time before dawn. Time to wait yet, before the sun rises with it's light and warmth and Deans finds himself wishing it would hurry because he feels as if the cold and the darkness are smothering him.

He curses himself for not thinking to retrieve a jacket or something out of the bags that Bobby had taken out of his car but thinks that maybe it wouldn't be a great idea to go back, even if he's sure his brother wouldn't want him to freeze to death. He wonders which would be worse, burning to death or freezing and decides it doesn't really matter when the place you end up is the same. And then he wonders which is worse, the Hell that they have waiting for him, or the Hell here on earth that he's created for himself. But of course that doesn't matter either because in the end he won't get to choose.

He blinks furiously refusing to let the tears fall and steps away from the shelter of the building further out into the cold air and wishes his car were here so at least he might have someone on his side although he thinks maybe it's a good thing because she's probably mad at him too. He trudges around the back of the parking lot and sees an abandoned burned out truck, probably been there weeks and probably destined to be there for some time still. He wanders over to it glancing over the framework, rusty, filthy and burned beyond repair, a right off and only fit for scrap now.

The light from the building creates his reflection in the driver's window and he stares into the shadows that are his eyes and finds that he doesn't recognise the man staring back. This person, this stranger, a twisted, altered version of himself is not the man who he wants to be, not the man who he ever wanted to be and he wants to obliterate the image and return to who he was before. Before his father died, before his brother died and before he sold his soul.

That man who was carefree, confident and fully capable of keeping the demons inside him hidden from view. Fully able to bury the losses, the sacrifices the nails driven into his heart because none of it mattered and there were more important things to think about. But a sponge can only absorb so much and if you saturate it enough it will bleed water unable to hold on to it's load and eventually it will become tattered and useless, not fit to do it's job.

He's been searching for that man for so long and he searches the reflection now but can find no shred of who he was, who he used to be, the man who his father had finally been proud of and before he knows his brain has given his arm the order, his fist has smashed through into the window, destroying the reflection, shattering glass in every direction and leaving the skin of his knuckles broken, torn and bleeding.

The harsh, guttural scream destroys the silence and seems to echo across the fields, the sudden explosion of sound seemingly deafening, the only sound in the world and as he stares down at his now bloody hand, flexing the joints, feeling the warm sticky liquid run through his fingers and on to the floor, it finally hits him. How alone he is, how completely screwed he is and what a complete low life piece of shit he is and it crushes him bearing down on his shoulders and he sinks to the floor leaning his back against the truck that he had just assaulted and he's almost surprised that it doesn't drive away on it's own, allowing him to fall to the floor but it doesn't, it at least stays where it is allowing him to lean against it's cold, unyielding exterior and he closes his eyes absorbing the pain in his hand, focusing on it trying to let him distract him from the agony in his soul but it doesn't it just reminds him of how much he has lost, how much he has failed and how much he has thrown away and he still has an eternity of Hell to face.

He allows himself to cry angry, heartbroken and lonely tears because there's nothing more to prove, no one to impress with his usual grim facade of strength, no order to obey, no task to complete, no one to save and no strength to help him hold on to the load, just him, battered and useless and little more than a right off.

----------------------------------

_He couldn't remember the tears coming to an end when he opened his eyes. All he remembered was Bobby's strong, warm arms around him and the gentle rocking motion which just seemed to soothe every little bad thing into nothing. He remembered the pain easing a little and he remembered feeling so tired. He doesn't feel tired anymore, just really warm and relaxed and safe and he snuggles deeper into the covers which someone had pulled up to his chin. He figures he must have slept pretty well and judging by the light seeping in through the gap in the curtains he had slept quite late. Bobby must be wondering when he was going to get his lazy ass out of bed he thought, so he reluctantly threw off the covers pushed himself into a sitting position and rubbed at his face before stretching._

_He decided to go downstairs and find Bobby because he didn't feel like being alone and he was worried Bobby might be waiting for him so they could have breakfast or maybe there were chores to do so hurried along anxiously, almost tripping on the bottom step. He padded into Bobby's study expecting him to be there but the room was empty. Next he tried the kitchen thinking maybe Bobby was making coffee but the kitchen was empty and there was no smell of coffee. He tried calling his name and continued searching the house not realising he was becoming frantic and he didn't notice how panic stricken and frightened his voice sounded as he called the man's name over and over. _

_He had to stop to take a breath when he realised that his heart was racing as the reality dawned on him that Bobby wasn't here. He had gone. He had left and he was alone. His dad was in another town and Sammy was with him and he was alone. He drew on one last burst of energy as he searched each room one more time his voice becoming raw as the tears came unwanted until he could do nothing but collapse at the bottom of the stairs unable to stop the shaking or the sobs that wracked his body._

_And he didn't care. He didn't care that he had lost it, that he had no control over his emotions or that the sound of his crying sounded pathetic and childish to his ears or that he was acting like a frightened little kid because there was no one there to see him so it didn't matter, but then after a ridiculously short length of time he felt a hand on his shoulder and heard a familiar voice and when he looked up startled and found Bobby Singer's eyes staring back at him he felt the worst kind of stupid he had ever known._

_"What's up kiddo?"_

_He sniffed and wiped his eyes, suddenly feeling like the biggest moron in the whole world but unable to tell the man why he was sat at the bottom of the stairs crying like a girl._

_"Dean?"_

_He hiccupped and managed to force out a few words in between his still ragged breathing and tried to hide the reason why. _

_"Where - where were you?"_

_Bobby sighed, a little sadly he thought and he felt guilty then because he had made Bobby sad._

_"Just outside cleaning out my truck. Figured it was about time - damn thing looked like something died in there."_

_He laughed then and Bobby sat next to him on the step putting an arm round his shoulders and ruffling his hair and he tried to act annoyed because Bobby knew he hated that but he wasn't all that annoyed really._

_"Dude, knock it off."_

_He knocked Bobby's hand away from his head but couldn't stop the smile from coming when Bobby grinned down at him._

-------------------------------

When there are no more tears left and he's too empty and exhausted to cry anymore he opens his eyes to find that nothing has changed. It's still dark, he's still cold and damp and he's still alone. Except for the truck. He stares down at his hand, now caked in dried blood like the tear tracks on his face making the skin feel tight and sticky. He can't stop shivering though. He's too tired to move but the shivering won't stop.

_He didn't mean it you asshole._

But what if he did? What if Sam meant every word and now he's really on his own. In the past Sam could never stay mad at him for long. Even on that day when he'd fallen so far he'd punched his little brother in the face but Sam had pretty much forgiven him right away - even given him the chance to hit him again, given him permission. Sam had never sent him away, never cut the ties, well not since he had left college. Of course there had been that fight when he had walked away from him but it hadn't lasted. Sam had returned eventually. He had come back because somehow he instinctively knew that his brother really needed him and he had done his best to convince Dean that he would never leave him again. But he knows that even Sam has his limits.

It's not as if he hasn't done anything dumb and borderline suicidal before, but he knows this is different. Nearly getting yourself killed because you were too stubborn and reckless to consider the consequences had been pretty stupid even by his standards and now looking back he can't quite believe how he could have acted that way. He suspects that his head may have been messed with but even so he knows that is no excuse.

No excuse for ignoring the warning signs which Sam had seen all along and maybe that's why he doesn't deserve his brother's forgiveness but even if he doesn't deserve it surely Sam would offer it anyway. Surely Sam would never give up on him but what if this time he had?

_He didn't mean it. You hurt him and now you need to stop being a prick and go to him._

Deciding that he doesn't really have anything to lose he stands exhaling, scrubs away the traces of tears on his face and practically runs back to the front door not even hesitating to enter and when he does his heart almost stops as he sees his baby brother sat hunched over on the couch the heels of his hands pressed almost painfully into his eyes his shoulders visibly shaking. He freezes unable to go any further, not wanting to watch the scene before him but not wanting to turn away either.

He wants to put a stop to it right now and he wants to turn and run but in the end it's instinct that wins and he's not really sure how he takes the steps that close the distance between him and Sam, the distance that had been like a chasm, a gorge too wide to jump, too treacherous to cross, the distance that had kept them apart since the day they started this war.

He's inches away from his brother now but at the same time feels like they're on opposite sides of the world, opposite sides of a wall, a wall he could climb if he wanted but then he thinks to himself that maybe he doesn't have the right, that Sam really has done with him and what if he were to push him away again because it would be nothing more than he deserves. Then he nearly turns back because he doesn't think he could handle it if he were to reach for his brother only to be rejected and sent away once again. He thinks maybe Sam just needs some time and considers the fact and yes maybe leaving him alone would be better, easier, let Sam calm down before talking to him and maybe he might stand a chance but then he hears a voice in his head telling him not to be a coward.

_Don't be a dick this isn't about you, it's about him._

Setting his jaw he pushes the table to one side and crouches down in front of Sam who is doing a great job of pretending he isn't there. He watches the shoulders grow tense, the shaking stops and he detects a distinct change in the younger man's breathing telling Dean that his presence is known and his heart is pounding so loudly he swears they can hear him in the next room because he's just waiting for Sam to look up and tell him to get lost but he doesn't. He doesn't do anything and until after what seems like a painfully long period of time he slowly exhales and drops his hands from his face, wiping at his eyes as he does so. Dean watches as his brother's eyes flick from side to side, his jaw so tense Dean's afraid something might break and he can tell he's grinding his teeth a little which probably means he's still mad but in the once young and innocent eyes he can only see sorrow.

He reaches out a hand tentatively but then loses his nerve and pulls back at the last moment wincing. Sam offers no response or reaction and yet another excruciatingly long moment drags by before he boldly reaches forward again, not giving himself the chance for courage to fail, grasping his little brother's head with one hand and wrapping the other still bloody one tightly round his back.

Sam stiffens, breathing in sharply, every muscle tensing but he doesn't pull away.

"I thought I told you to go."

"Yeah, but you didn't mean it."

"How d'you figure?"

"Cause you're my awesome little brother and no matter how many times I screw up you always forgive me, right?"

It's not really a question so much as a desperate, hopeful plea and he really doesn't care about the indignity, the desperation in his voice and he almost bursts into tears of relief when Sam chokes out a sob, whipping his arms fiercely around his big brother in a crushing embrace contradicting the furious growl that escapes his lips moments later.

"You're such a fuckin' asshole dean."

"I know and I'm sorry, I'm so fuckin' sorry man."

Sam begins to cry again and not quietly and he has to swallow back his own agony because right now he just wants to be strong for his little brother and he doesn't have the right to release the fresh tears that are longing to be set free, because this is his fault and he doesn't deserve to be comforted because it's him that caused all this, caused everything so he just holds on to Sam and bites down on his own emotions, tightening his jaw and fighting to keep it all locked away.

"I thought I'd lost you."

Sam's words jab painfully into his heart and his arms involuntarily contract around his brother a little more, his fingers sinking into the soft brown locks and he tells himself the reason he's clinging to his brother so hard is to give comfort not receive it and that it's for Sam, just Sam and not him.

-------------------------------

Some things change and some things stay the same and some do neither so when Sam gently pulls away from his brother his tears now dry the man he sees before him is not the same man who told him to let him go, it's the man who hauled him up off the ground as blood seeped from his eyes, the man who caught him before he hit the deck when another crippling vision attacked his mind, the man who wrenched at the cord pulled tight against his neck by an invisible force, the man who pulled his head on to his shoulder as he gasped desperately for air that day that seemed so long ago before everything changed. Dean Winchester the man who swore to protect him and never let anything bad happen to him is staring back at him but he's someone else too. Someone else because things have happened, people have died and deals have been made and although Sam can clearly see the big brother who swore to never leave his side in those pale green eyes he can still see the lost and fractured soul who he just can't seem to fix. But hiding all that, diluting that misery and grief is the smart ass who simply doesn't give a shit.

Dean, his brother, the smart ass is holding his head in his hands and smirking at him a little one eyebrow raised, a look all too familiar.

"Hey, Sammy."

Sam examines the face staring back and his mouth twitches upwards at the corner into a one sided grin.

"Hey, Dean."

Dean shakes his head his expression dark.

"You're such a girl."

"I hate you."

Dean grins and Sam shrugs the hands away in feigned irritation, doesn't notice the damage to the knuckles until Dean flinches ever so slightly. Sam's expression changes from mild amusement to concern because his brother's hand is bloody and he doesn't know why. Without thinking he catches hold of the wrist and gently turns it to take a better look.

"Hey, what happened?"

He frowns, the concern obvious in his eyes warming Dean's heart a touch although he'll be screwed if he's admitting to it.

"What?"

The elder's eyebrows shoot up innocently and Sam looks away chuckling a little disbelievingly, before turning his Patient Parental Look on his older sibling.

"Your hand. What happened to it?"

"Um, sorry what?"

Dean looks the other way and scratches his head with his free hand trying to pretend he hasn't a clue as to what his brother is referring to playing his No I Really Am That Dumb card.

"_Dean_."

The tone is light but slightly admonishing and Dean sighs giving in, just as Sam knew he would because he's a push over these days.

"Alright, alright. I um... kind of put it through um...a window."

He winces a little guiltily and Sam shakes his head laughing again in mild frustration.

"Dude, you're such a dick, come on I'll clean it up for you."

"Sammy, it's nothin'."

"Humour me."

He stands and takes Dean's arm, lifting and guiding him into the seat he had previously occupied and heads off to the pile of bags near the door to retrieve the first aid kit. Dean rolls his eyes.

A few minutes later Sam is perched on the small table facing Dean, pretending not to enjoy fussing over his older brother, pretending not to relish the opportunity to take care of him, the chance to give something back however small it may be. Dean watches Sam, almost transfixed, touched to his soul by the concentration and genuine concern on his little brother's face, only looking away when Sam feels the intensity of his stare and looks up smiling to himself as Dean quickly averts his eyes. He continues his task, gently cleans the cuts and applies the antiseptic which Dean insists isn't necessary, a comment which Sam ignores and Dean allows him to but retains the pretence that he is hating every minute of having his baby brother look after him for the slightly longer than necessary time it takes to clean and dress the relatively minor wounds. He huffs occasionally, sighs impatiently and fidgets deliberately, actions necessary to maintain the charade that he is Dean Winchester and doesn't need looking after because he can take care of himself.

Of course he hasn't been that man for a long time. Taking care of himself is something he's become pretty crappy at since everything changed because how can you take care of something if you don't even care about it. But holding on to that front, that facade has been getting harder and harder particularly as Sam seems to be fooled by it less and less. Unless of course Sam had never been fooled by it and had just been humouring him. Humouring him because it had been easier or maybe because he actually wanted him to hold on to some smidgen of dignity, a morsel of strength so that he could keep doing what he does and not shatter into fragments.

He has a fair idea that right at this moment, Sam isn't buying the act anymore than he had done in the past but he seems to be humouring him all the same. It's easier that way than to say: "Quit pretending that this is pissing you off because I know how much you crave someone who will take care of you." That would just be unkind and not to mention uncomfortable. It amazes him how Sam always knows when to humour him and when to not. A few light hearted comments fly back and forth, Sam telling Dean to sit still and Dean telling Sam that he has the bedside manner of Nurse Glockner and Sam telling Dean to shut up and then they go quiet. Uncomfortably quiet. For an uncomfortable length of time and then Dean fidgets uncomfortably but eventually speaks. Uncomfortably.

"Look, Sam, about this whole thing."

Sam pretends not to hear and suddenly decides he hasn't quite finished tying up the bandage on Dean's hand.

"You know, I wish as much as you do that it didn't have to be like this but it does."

"Be like what?"

He doesn't look up and his tone has that dark edge to it which Dean hates.

"Like both of us accepting that what's done is done. I'm gonna die Sam and the sooner you get that, the sooner I can stop worrying about you getting yourself killed trying to save me."

Sam raises an eyebrow and gives him an incredulous not to mention pissed off look which has Dean a little nervous because he doesn't want to go back down that road again.

"I made my choice, Sam and now, well if you're alive then I can live with that."

Sam finally finishes his task and lets go of Dean's now fully dressed hand, his brow furrowed.

"And what if I can't?"

"I get it, ok? I do, but you - you'll be ok."

Sam shrugs and shakes his head laughing bitterly.

"No, I won't. But more importantly neither will you and it's that that I'm more concerned about right now."

"Sam..."

"No, Dean. This isn't about me. It isn't about whether I'll be ok or not it's about the fact that you're going to Hell and even if you want me to believe that you're ok with that I'm not just gonna lay back and accept it. That's the truth of the matter Dean, so deal with it."

Dean looks a little taken aback, opens his mouth to say something then stops, looks away and smirks. That smirk that had Sam so pissed on so many occasions. That smirk that Sam had wanted to erase with his fist but this time it only makes him sad.

"You got more important stuff to worry about, Sammy. Trust me, I aint worth it."

He catches a glimpse of the anger and maybe hurt in Sam's eyes before looking down at his hand and laughs trying to make light of the comment as he realises that his words are more than likely to earn him a smack or two but then, when he looks back up he's surprised to find his brother is just staring at him his eyes wide and doing that thing with his jaw he does when he's more upset then angry.

"You are to me."

Their eyes remain fixed on each other's unable to tear away this time and Dean sees for the first time just how much this is destroying his little brother and how afraid he is and he sees the aftermath of his most recent reckless act and it's like a knife twisting in his ribcage, a smack in the face and a punch to the gut all at the same time. He shakes his head his eyes filling suddenly and unexpectedly, his head ducking involuntarily and finds his voice has gone all crappy again.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I'm sorry."

Sam takes hold of the side of his brother's face, lifting his head gently and Dean somehow finds the courage to look back at him.

"Hey, come on dude, you know I can never stay mad at you, right?"

Dean's face almost crumples and he looks back down at the floor quickly, knocking Sam's hand away from him before scrubbing away the tears that refused to stay put this time.

"Must have really sucked for you. Bringing all that shit back…The fire...and...and Jess."

Sam nods his head his eyebrows twitching and breathes out shakily.

"Must have sucked pretty bad for you too."

Dean says nothing eyes now fixed on the floor the muscles in his jaw tensing.

"Dean?"

Dean glances back up at him before looking away again and shakes his head whispering brokenly:

"Sammy..."

"Hey."

"I'm sorry."

Sam grabs the back of his brother's neck and squeezes gently.

"I know."

----------------------

Dean's quiet that evening but the next day he's back to cracking jokes and being a smart ass. Sam wonders if the previous day even happened but if he's honest he's not all that surprised. Dean hadn't made any promises, hadn't changed his mind and had still been intent on preventing Sam from getting him out of the deal. Sam knows he feels bad about what he had done. His reckless and irresponsible attitude had got him into deep shit and even though Sam suspects that Eve and her little mind games may have had something to do with it he doubts Dean will see it that way.

But he can tell by Dean's demeanour that he has no intention of playing it safe from now on. He finds it frustrating that just as he thought Dean was starting to let is guard down he switches back as if nothing had happened. He's not sure what he wants from his brother. The last thing he wants is for him to be miserable, depressed and dwelling on his fate because that's not who Dean Winchester is but he just wishes that he would be honest with him and quit his usual game of trying to deal with his shit alone.

A part of him is occasionally relieved that Dean doesn't talk because what the hell would he say? What could he possibly say that could make anything even slightly less hopeless? But at the same time it makes him feel redundant, useless and like a huge fucking traitor. His brother is going to Hell because of him and there isn't a damn thing he can do about it and no amount of talking or sharing will ever change that. He needs to do something, offer something, change something because he owes Dean so much but there is nothing. He wonders if that's why he's always nagging at Dean to be straight with him because of the guilt and not because of some misguided notion that it will help Dean. Because it won't. Nothing will.

He realises he's being staring at the same page on the lap top screen for over ten minutes, not really reading just thinking, going over and over in his head all the things that he could have done, all the things that his brother did, all the things that he really shouldn't have but did anyway. He sighs a little and looks over at Dean who is slouched on his bed watching some crappy sit-com.

"Dean, you know I didn't mean it right?"

Dean glances over but returns his attention to the TV.

"Huh?"

"I mean, before. When I told you to go? It's just... I was freaked you know? Seeing you, like that. I mean I'd never..."

He sighs heavily and shakes his head, finding it hard to finish.

"You know that I'll always...whatever happens. You do know that right?"

Dean looks back at him his brow creased, sits up swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

"I'm gonna go get somethin' to eat you want anythin'?"

Sam shakes his head both in response and in frustration at his brother's typical avoidance tactic.

"No, I'm good."

----------------

Bobby has gone now and it's just him and Sam again. Having the old guy around was good while it lasted but in the end it's always just him and Sam. It had helped, having someone older and more experienced around, like everything wasn't just on him, like there was an alternative, someone to check in on, some one to consult with if he ever found himself in a place where he just didn't know what to do next. Because that happens sometimes, despite al the knowledge he has, despite what his father had taught him, sometimes just sometimes he finds himself at a loss and just the fact that there been someone else around who might be able to help had been enough of a comfort.

_"Dad? I know I've left you messages before. I don't even know if you'll get 'em. But I'm with Sam. And we're in Lawrence...I don't know what to do. So, whatever you're doin', if you could get here. Please. I need your help, Dad."_

Even with is ever absent father he knew that he could call him. He never returned the calls but just the fact that he had a number, a point of contact had provided a sense that he wasn't alone. Bobby had always answered his phone of course unlike their Dad. And somehow he and Sam had always been able to figure things out whenever John failed to come through for them. Which was pretty much all the time. Sometimes it's not that you need someone else, that you'd be screwed without their help, but just the thought that they're there, that if you really, really need them then they'll be there for you. But now that has all gone.

He doesn't want Sam to see though, doesn't want him to know how it's killing him on the inside. He doesn't want Sam to know how much he needs to feel he's not alone but he can't share all the shit in his head with Sam because his little brother is going through enough right now. Bobby could have listened though. Not that he had been planning on sharing anything with anyone but it had been nice to know that there was someone impartial, someone older and wiser who could hear him talk just in case he needed to.

Of course he had blown that now hadn't he? He finds it easier this way, to jerk around to make fun of just about everything because if he doesn't sometimes he's scared that he'll just crumble into little pieces all over the floor and he can't no matter what happens allow Sam to see that. He'd rather die.

And he'd been ready to. Die that is. For Sam - if it meant stopping that psychotic blood sucking cretin from getting his claws into his baby brother he would have gladly thrown himself into the firing line even if that meant an early trip to Hell. Sam of course as freaking usual has other ideas and doesn't hold back in letting him know. He sometimes wonders where he gets it from and he can only think it must be their Dad. When Sam gets his take no shit head on he can be quite the hard ass and there's just no holding him back and when he knocks the pad out of his hands and tells him to drop the attitude he can almost hear his father's voice. He wonders if it's that that makes him stop.

He tries to keep up the charade a little longer, just for old time's sake because he has a reputation for being an asshole to uphold but he knows he'd been a fool if he ever really believed Sammy would fall for any of it.

_"...so yeah I know you, better than anyone else in the entire world..."_

And then just for a fleeting moment it's not John Winchester speaking through his youngest son it's just Sam, Sammy his baby brother, eyes pleading, looking to him to make it okay, to fix everything and it's just how he remembers. Sammy is stood right in front of him it's undeniably him and the relief that he's still in there after everything that's happened, after all the worry, the fear that somehow the demon had changed him when she brought him back, is overwhelming and it's all he can do to hold it together.

This is a far cry from the Sam who's spent the last few weeks being mad at him, yelling at him, trying to snap him out of the bullshit that he's created and he knows that he's been a total prick, knows he's been faking, lying and pushing Sam away but he genuinely hadn't known what else to do. But this is Sammy, his little brother, not yelling at him, not trying to wake him up but begging him just to come back to him, the tears in his eyes and the crack in his voice dissolving his defences into nothing and he simply cannot deny him. He can't turn away from that - he never could. Sammy's still here and he needs his big brother because he's slowly crumbling too.

_"I just wish you'd drop the show and be my brother again, cause... just cause."_

Just for today then. Just for today he'll back down and be who Sam needs him to be. Just for today he'll play it safe, take the sensible route and he'll stay by Sam's side where he belongs because there may not be many more chances for that. That's all he can offer right now and somehow it will have to be enough. For now. He'll make it right later. Later when this day is over.

--------------------------------------

Christmas had sucked. Well not entirely but having your finger nail removed and your arms slashed open wasn't exactly how you wanted to spend the holidays. After that it had improved somewhat. Bobby had been in touch and not just to help them with their little problem but to see how they were doing. Dean hadn't spoken to him. Made his excuses and left the room. Dean had hardly spoken to Bobby since he had left them at that motel after their little adventure in Atlantic City. When he had spoken to him, Sam had noticed that the conversation had been strained and clipped at least from his end. He had asked Bobby about it when Dean wasn't there. Bobby hadn't known what he meant. Hadn't occurred to him that anything was wrong. But something was definitely wrong and he had been determined to find out what.

"Dean what's with you and Bobby?"

Dean looks up from the paper he's been leafing through.

"What?"

"Well earlier, you sounded a little weird that's all."

Dean shrugs and pulls a face.

"Not weird just - you know."

"No, I don't know that's why I'm asking you. He done something to piss you off?"

"Hey he was the one who left us ok?"

He mumbles the response and turns back to the paper and Sam sits up a little concerned and maybe a little confused.

"What?"

Silence.

"Dean?"

"What?!"

He looks up at Sam the expression on his face clearly intended to intimidate Sam into shutting the hell up. Not that that ever worked. Sam usually just slapped on his bitch face and raised his eyebrows, a little like he was doing right now.

"He left Sam. And trust me it wasn't exactly on friendly terms."

"What the hell are you on man? Bobby didn't _leave_ us."

Dean's back to pretending to read the article again, eyebrows knitted in fake concentration his voice laced with his usual give a shit sarcasm.

"Sure he did. What, you got amnesia? That's generally what happens with us Sammy."

"Dude, are you on crack or somethin'?"

For some reason Dean's temper beats his desire to end the conversation and his head snaps back up again practically yelling his response.

"Look, Sam, he pretty much said he was done with me alright?"

Sam stares wide eyed and shocked and Dean shakes his head his anger diminishing as quickly as it had arisen.

"Not that I blame him."

"Dean what the hell..."

"Sam just leave it okay?"

"Is that why you've been so weird lately. Because you think Bobby's had it with you. Man that is like insane."

"Sam, I said drop it. You weren't there, alright?"

"Dean, Bobby left because he had work to do, because he wanted to give us some space. And maybe a little because he was afraid he'd deck you but that's beside the point."

"He said that?"

"Well, we were both a little cranked up, Dean, to say the least. I mean seeing you like that - it scared the hell outta me and...maybe I overreacted but it was...I mean...dude, I don't ever wanna..."

"No. I mean him saying he had work to do. He never told me that, well actually he did but he pretty much said he was leaving because he'd had it."

"Well I guess he was pissed. Maybe you misunderstood him man. Bobby wouldn't do that. He cares about us. He cares about _you_."

"Whatever, you wanna beer?"

Dean drops the paper and heads to the small fridge.

"Dude..."

"Conversation's over Sam."

And this time Sam can tell that he really means it.

Later that evening, Dean leaves Sam to go hustle some pool or whatever and Sam doesn't argue because he's really tired of arguing and besides he has a phone call to make. A phone call which he'd prefer his brother not to listen in on.

"Hey Bobby."

"Hey Sam how's it goin'? How's the finger?"

"Um sore, as you can imagine. How's thing's with you?"

"Actually I'm doin' better. Got hit with this real bad head cold over Christmas. I'm telling you, Sam it was more like ectoplasm..."

"Er yeah, Bobby thanks for sharing but I need to ask you somethin' important. It's about Dean."

He hears the old man sigh heavily, wearily, bone wearily.

"What's the little shit done now?"

Sam laughs.

"Actually nothin'. It's just... I dunno I get the feelin' there's somethin' goin' on with you two. I mean I know you're probably still pissed with him but he's kinda taken it..."

"Whoa, hold up there Sam, who says I'm still pissed with him?"

"Well, he does. I mean he seems to think you've had enough. The other day when you spoke, it was weird man. I mean you can't tell me you didn't notice somethin'."

"Well I guess so yeah, but I kinda put it down to post holiday blues. I was on a downer myself, had this real bad take out and it had me up half the night - I'm tellin' you Sam you aint seen nothin' like..."

"Um Bobby, you're like family to us, but that's somethin' I don't really need to know."

"Right, anyway I guess I probably could have snapped a little. Maybe. I just called to see how you boys were doin' and he was all business like and asking me if I was calling about a hunt. I got the impression he wasn't in the mood for chit chat so I cut the call short."

Sam snorts.

"Right. Sometimes he can be such an idiot."

"How about I meet up with you boys, have a little chat with that fool of a brother of yours?"

"Bobby that'd be great. Whereabouts are you anyhow?"

---------------------------------

Bobby feels more than a little guilty that he had left things this long, well it had only been a couple of weeks but this was Dean and he really should have known better. It had only recently hit him just how messed up the young hunter actually is and how little he thinks of himself. Bobby had always known about Dean's capacity for guilt. The incident with the Shtriga had told him that. It had knocked him for six how someone so young and innocent could be so hard on themselves and it had broken his heart at seeing how afterwards, the boy wouldn't let young Sammy out of his sight. As if the only way he could make it up to him was by assigning himself the role of his brother's own personal bodyguard. And then he'd watched how the young hunter had fallen apart after his baby brother left for college. He had taken it so hard, believed it was his fault, believed it was Dean who Sam was leaving not the hunting life which Bobby had known was the reality.

Sam had spoken to him about leaving, one evening while Dean and John were off on some hunt that he had been allowed to sit out. He'd explained everything, how he couldn't live this life anymore, how he wanted something else, something more. Bobby had been afraid of how the news would affect his older brother but he'd said nothing to either sibling. He could have warned Sam that the news would tear his brother apart, but what good would have come of it? Sam had made up his mind and there was little point in laying a guilt trip on the kid. So instead he'd nodded understandingly, not all that surprised at the news and he'd even told Sam that Dean would be happy for him which wasn't a lie. He'd known that even though Dean would be devastated the tiny part of him that wasn't heartbroken would wish his little brother all the luck in the world.

And he hadn't spoken to Dean either. Felt it wasn't his place and he didn't want to think about the repercussions, besides he'd known that it wasn't his place to stand in the boy's way at attempting a shot at normal life even if he knew it would come close to destroying his brother.

After witnessing the fallout he'd realised then what it all meant. Dean was constantly being abandoned by the people he loved whether it be physically or emotionally and although in reality they weren't leaving because of him it didn't change the fact that that was how he felt. Losing his little brother had been just another notch on the post and one of the contributing factors as to why the young man's head is so completely upside down and it's this reason he's feeling pretty much like shit right about now. Because he has always known about this side of Dean, this fear of being left alone, fear of being abandoned and while he had never intended his departure to be interpreted as that he should have known better. Should have known that that would be exactly how Dean would see it. That Bobby had left him, abandoned him just like everyone else.

The guilt arising him from this knowledge spurs him, hurries him and he packs the few belongings that he needs with a pressing haste because he doesn't want to leave this any longer than necessary and he feels an almost desperate urgency to make this right. He tells himself to slow down, that rushing won't get him there any faster, that everything will be fine, that he'll find Dean, rag on him a little, maybe even smack him around the head for being such a dope and everything would be back to normal he just wishes that he isn't so far, that the journey will take one hour instead of the two it's likely to take. In his haste he realises that he's forgotten his gun, a foolish error and he stops to take a breath, chastising himself for getting so worked up. Telling himself to calm down he retrieves his weapon, shoves it in his jacket pocket and heads for the door only to be surprised to find it open and irritated to find a woman standing in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame, a woman with long dark hair and pretty eyes looking him up and down with a strange and slightly disturbing expression on her face.

He's about to tell her he's in a hurry because he doesn't know her and frankly doesn't care but she cuts him off with a seductive drawl before he can even speak.

"Bobby Singer, I have been looking for you for too long."

Bobby frowns and instinctively reaches for his gun but before his fingers have even brushed it he's suddenly paralyzed by something other than sheer terror and the last thing he sees before he can hiss out his final utter of free thinking speech is the colour from the woman's eyes vanishing into a brilliant white.

"_**You!**_"

TBC

Thanks for reading why not hit that wee button and let me know what you thought.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

"Dude, I don't get what your problem is."

"Um..Demon!?"

"Uh, yeah Dean I know that but if it wasn't for her you'd be toast."

They're back into their usual routine it seems of arguing in the car. Sam must have been bored Dean thinks and so decided to bring up the subject of Ruby again because it's been at least twenty four hours since they last had a scrap. He's not going to rise to it though. He's tired right now and had wanted to stay in bed but Sam had nagged at him to get up as they had a meeting with Bobby planned. No one had asked him if he wanted to meet with Bobby. No one ever asked him anything but if they did he would have told them that he'd rather go line dancing with Chenelle and her big breasts and cowboy boots in that weird ass bar down the road than go meet Bobby today. But as usual no one bothered to ask him his opinion.

"Please Sam, she was saving her own ass, you said so yourself, everything else was just a bi-product."

"Dude, you haven't even given her a chance."

"Don't need to, she's a demon."

"She says she can help, Dean."

"Yeah so you keep saying. But you know what? All I'm hearing is your opinion, which right now I'm not entirely sure is one hundred per cent reliable..."

Sam shoots him his crinkly, pissed and slightly hurt face.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It mean's that you're biased, compromised and your judgments clouded. Because of _me_, Sam and she knows that."

"Well, why don't you try talkin' to her yourself?"

"Hey, I'd love to but it's not like I've had the chance, what with the two of you havin' all these clandestine little meetings. I mean anyone would think you're afraid to introduce me, Sam."

"Dean, it's not my fault she always takes off. I think she does it to look cool, like it's part of her act or somethin'."

"Have you heard yourself?"

"All I'm saying is that it wouldn't hurt to give her a chance. It's not like we've got a whole load of other options for getting your ass out of this deal."

"Sam, I'm done with this conversation alright? If I ever get to meet the bitch she's dead, you got that?"

"Dean..."

"Enough Sam, alright? Now where's this joint supposed to be? We passed the sign half a mile back."

"Take a right here."

"Why's Bobby wanna meet us here anyway?"

"What, can't we meet up for lunch with an old friend? He wanted to meet last night, but it was gettin' late and you were out hustlin' or whatever it is you do now..."

"Yeah but why does he wanna meet us?"

"Um dunno, maybe he misses us."

Dean gives his brother an 'are you kidding me?' look before shrugging and turning back to the road. He really hadn't wanted to come out here. He'd have preferred to hang out at the motel even if it was a crap hole but Sam had insisted. Sam had badgered and nagged and cajoled. Sam had told him to act his age and to get over himself because he'd had the fucking audacity to remind Sam that Bobby was pissed with him and he didn't really feel like seeing the cranky old red neck and his cranky trucker's cap and his cranky body warmer today tomorrow or any other day for that matter and then Dean had turned away and frowned. He had frowned, not scowled or pouted as Sam had accused him of, which had made him even crabbier because he had been scolded by his little brother yet again and yes he had known that Sam was right.

It doesn't take long to find the diner. It's one of those tacky, slightly grubby types with a big garish sign on the front announcing it's presence from several miles away. Most of the tables are still dirty with coffee stains and splashes of dried tomato ketchup and they have to walk past several tables, shoes sticking to the floor with each step, before finding one with seats clean enough for Sam's O.C.D to cope with. Sam glances at the menu but focuses most of his attention out of the window ignoring Dean's attempts at light conversation and random observations and doesn't even notice when two coffees arrive which Dean had ordered even though Sam had said he didn't want coffee because he'd had enough in the last few days. Dean had ignored him and ordered him one anyway believing it to be for his own good.

The caffeine makes Dean even antsier and it isn't long before he's fidgeting impatiently and asking Sam if they can leave now because Bobby is already half an hour late and he has better things to do with his time. Like pay per view for instance. Sam tries Bobby's cell phone. Several times. Each time he does that thing with his eyebrows when he's a little more concerned than he should be. Dean ignores it and turns his attention to a waitress with legs all the way up to her ass.

"What do you think Sam? Hot or not? I'm going for hot."

Sam replies somewhat distracted still gazing out of the window like a jilted teenager waiting for a date that has decided to dump him for someone less like a geek.

"Yeah, great."

"You know what? Because I'm such an awesome brother I'm gonna let you have first dibs."

"What?"

He turns back to his brother frowning to see that Dean has that six year old boy look on his face, his eyes somewhere to the right of his shoulder. He turns around to see the object of Dean's attention leaning over an elderly couple collecting their used plates, her cleavage practically doing a duet with the old man's beard.

He scowls and turns up his lip, clearly unimpressed.

"You're disgusting."

Dean shakes his head, still grinning, his eyes following the waitress as she makes a return trip, smiling up at her charmingly as she passes with a wink.

"I know man, I just can't help it."

"Man where the hell is he?"

"Probably getting laid."

Dean sniffs and takes a sip of his coffee; Sam practically chokes on his.

"Dude. What is _wrong_ with you?"

"What?"

Dean looks up at his brother genuinely puzzled and wipes away the coffee that Sam had spat all over his jacket with a used and grubby looking napkin. Sam shudders and takes another look at his phone. Dean decides he's had enough and calls the waitress back to order a couple of cheeseburgers with extra fries because if they have to hang out in this crappy diner then he can at least get himself something to eat.

Sam doesn't eat much of his. Just pushes it around with that worried puppy look on his face. Keeps checking his phone and looking out of the window.

"You gonna eat that?"

Dean gestures to his brother's unwanted food, his mouth full and is rewarded by Sam's I'm Ashamed to Be With You Face which Dean takes as an invitation to help himself and gleefully empties Sam's dinner on to his own plate.

"Fantastic."

"Dude, don't you ever, like...get full?"

Dean looks up with a mouthful of burger, a French fry sticking out between his lips.

"What d'you mean?"

"You know - _full_. As in: 'geez I'm full I couldn't possibly eat another bite'."

Dean frowns apparently confused.

"You've lost me."

Sam rolls his eyes and turns back to the window, his brow crinkling once more.

"Sam quit worrying. Bobby's probably just...I dunno forgot? Look man, I really don't think he's coming."

Sam pushes one of the left behind French fries or freedom fries or whatever they're supposed to be called now around his plate with his fork and pouts.

"He said he'd be here."

"Yeah well, I got better things to do. He's got until I finish this burger to get his ass here and then we're done."

Bobby doesn't show up. Bobby doesn't answer his phone and Sam scowls or frowns all the way back to the motel and Dean ignores him and turns up the music to an ear splitting level and pretends that he doesn't give a shit.

Sam doesn't stop fretting until they get another job. By then of course he has a whole new set of things to worry about.

-------------------------------------

It had been nice to finally get one up on his brother. Ruby had come through for them - again - and Sam is feeling more than just a little vindicated. He had been right. He had been right to give her a chance. Been right to allow her to help them and been right that it was worth the risk and he decides that he is going to make Dean remember that for a very, very long time. He had listened with glee while Dean relayed how Ruby had forced some weird ass black stuff into his mouth that had tasted like ass and made him want to puke his lungs up but then he had been coughing his lungs up anyway so it wasn't all that different. He had claimed that Ruby had enjoyed every minute of it and was obviously some kind of sadist. Dean had reckoned she probably kept a gimp in her basement.

"But you gotta admit it Dean, we'd have been screwed without her right?

"Yes, Sam."

"And I was right all along."

"Yes, Sam, you were right all along."

"I mean how many times is it that she's saved your ass?"

"_Sam_."

"And you shouldn't feel too bad about having to be rescued by a girl, cos she's still a demon."

"**_Sam_**."

"And who knows maybe she can really help us with this war right?"

Dean doesn't reply for a second just grinds his teeth and exhales.

"Right?"

"_Maybe_!"

He turns a warning glare on his little brother who promptly ignores it and continues cheerfully in his cruel and unusual exercise of humiliation and torture.

"I don't wanna say I told you so man and I'd hate to appear smug, but you gotta admit bro, I totally called that one."

"Sam, will you stop!"

"What?"

Sam turns his innocent face on his brother, his mouth upturned into a smirk that Dean really wants to smack into oblivion.

"You were right ok? I admit it. I got it wrong but if you think you're gonna hold this one over me for forever then you forget it, ok?"

Sam laughs at the genuine anger and frustration in his brother's tone.

"Ok man. I'll ease up on you."

Dean glances at his brother as if to say a reluctant 'thank you' but then practically growls when Sam can't resist one last barb:

"In a week or so."

That evening the atmosphere in the room is a little lighter somehow, as if maybe there might be some hope, although Dean of course knows better, but Sam seems happier for some reason and he sure as hell isn't going to put a downer on him by telling him Ruby's little confession. It's not like he hadn't already figured it out anyway. The demon's revelation that there was no saving him from Hell and yes it was going to be as bad and worse than he could possibly imagine hadn't exactly come as a shock, although he has to admit to himself that something had cracked inside of him and it had made him realise that at least a small part of him had believed or at least wanted to believe that maybe Sam could get him out of it.

Right now though, he'd rather not think too much about it, especially as Sam actually seems happy for once. His younger brother is on form tonight it seems and the familiar banter flies back and forth naturally without effort and Dean thinks he can't remember a time when they were this relaxed. Sam teases his brother mercilessly about how he had nearly killed the person who could save his life and that if it hadn't been for Sam stopping him he would have been 'a puddle of goo' and that maybe it's time that Dean showed him some respect. Dean points out that Sam's the one with the respect problem and Sam says that that isn't fair because he always respects his elders and then Dean throws a cushion at him which hits him in the face.

A few minutes later Sam is in hysterics when Dean tries to point out how rude, arrogant and full of herself the demon chick is and that she'd had the nerve to call him 'short bus' and Dean rolls his eyes at Sam's high pitched shrieks of delight and tells him to shut the hell up before giving him a hard shove causing him to fall off the bed. Unfortunately the fall isn't enough to stop Sam's laughter and Dean allows himself a brief smile because it's been a long time since he's heard Sam laugh like that.

The next day it's business as usual, the black cloud seems to have returned and it's back to feeling like crap. Sam's all moody and distant again as if he'd managed to forget everything and then with the sunrise everything had returned in a huge heap on his shoulders. Dean had been hoping that Sam would cheer up for a while but when he had stepped out of the shower to find Sam lying flat on his back in bed, staring up at the ceiling with what he could swear were tears in his eyes his heart had dropped. He hadn't spoken and neither had Sam. Just pushed himself wearily out of bed and trudged off to the bathroom without a word and Dean had thought to himself that it was going to be another one of those days.

Dean sits by the window staring out trying to work through a million thoughts while at the same time trying to block out the fear that just seems to creep up on him from time to time. He's been getting quite good at it, particularly when Sam's around, but sometimes when he's alone even just for a few minutes the terror sneaks up on him and he finds himself unable to move, almost unable to breathe and at the same time he's filled with a near uncontrollable urge to scream, to cry, to pound the walls and to just beg for someone to help him, to save him. But then usually something happens like Sam steps out of the shower or the phone rings and suddenly the mask slips back into place and everything is pushed aside once more.

Today it's the phone that does it and the voice on the other end is Bobby's.

Dean nearly doesn't answer but then remembers that Sam had been worried about the old fart and also a part of him yearns to hear the older man's voice and to pour everything out and tell him everything that's going off in his head but he can't, he just can't so he sets his jaw and answers his phone in that tone he uses for people he doesn't like that much but then feels instantly guilty.

"Yeah?"

"Are you alone?"

Dean frowns and glances at the bathroom door, the steady hiss of the shower telling him that Sam's still in there.

"Sam's takin' a shower. Why?"

And then Bobby tells Dean that the two of them have to meet as soon as possible and without Sam. Dean wants to know why but Bobby won't say; only that it concerns his brother and it would be best for all concerned if Sam didn't know. Dean reluctantly agrees because even though Sam had told him the reason why he's been acting different these days it hadn't stopped him worrying about him and that maybe there were other reasons why Sam had chosen to go down that path and maybe Bobby has some real answers. Either way it doesn't matter because if Bobby says he needs to see him alone then he guesses that's what he should do, because despite his feelings towards the older hunter at the moment he still trusts him with his life and respects him more than anyone and also maybe, just maybe they can fix things, Bobby will forgive him for his asshole antics in Atlantic City and maybe he'll have someone to talk to again. He silently mocks himself and thinks: _Like that will ever happen._

----------------------------------

Dean's sitting at the table glaring at the computer screen when Sam comes out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waste and another being used to dry his hair.

"Found anything?"

Dean looks up eyebrows raised and slams the lap top shut, notices the seemingly ever present frown on Sam's face and wonders if he can tease his brother out of his funk.

"You know that would be a whole lot quicker if you got yourself a haircut."

"Tell me you're not starting all that up again."

Sam's brow twitches with the tiniest spark of amusement before plopping down on to his bed, his knees placed a little further apart than Dean considers appropriate.

"Dude!"

He throws up a hand to hide his face and turns away in mock horror.

"Watch where you're putting that thing."

"What?"

Sam frowns and self consciously presses his knees together, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly then Dean stands up and throws a pair of his jeans at him.

"Do us all a favour, big fella, and put those on."

Sam smirks and waves his hand towards the chair near the window.

"Could you pass me my boxers first?"

"Dude, I'm not touching your underwear."

Sam looks a little hurt.

"They're clean."

"I don't care."

Sam shrugs and pushes a strand of wet hair out of his face.

"Hm, split ends again."

"Sam seriously. Shave it off. You'd be doing the world a favour."

"What's the fascination with my hair?"

"I just think a shorter crop would be more appropriate, I mean come on, Sam, it's like 'All hail the Antichrist and his well conditioned fringe'."

"Dude - I'm not the Antichrist."

"Sure I know that, but lets face it - you got a reputation out there and who knows, maybe we can use it to our advantage; only right now when all these war mongering demons out there catch a sight of you and that emo, grungy thing you got goin' on what do you think they're gonna do Sam? Ask you if they can join your band? Enquire about the best type of hair care or run away in terror screaming: 'oh noooo he's gonna hug us!'"

Dean waves his arms in an attempt to imitate a bunch of demons trying to run away from a counselling session with an over grown, puppy loving Satan spawn.

Sam frowns, bemused.

"You got your Mcweirdo head on today or what, freakazoid?"

"Freakazoid? Oh that's nice Sam, thanks."

"Hey, do we have a job or what?"

Sam nods towards the lap top.

"No. Nothin'. But I gotta head off for a while."

Sam's brow resumes it's usual state of furrowed concern that Dean could have predicted an hour ago and he holds up a hand to stop him before he can even start angsting or fretting or whining about why he has to be left behind.

"Nothin' for you to worry about before you start. Got a little favour to do for an old friend. Shouldn't take me more than a couple of hours and besides it'll give you some alone time with your lap top. Don't think I don't know what the two of you get up to while I'm gone."

"Dean, the only thing we get up to is research."

"Oooh, is that what you call it now?"

"You're sick you know that?"

"You _love_ me!"

"Do not."

"Do too."

"You just said doo doo."

"I did not, I said _do too_."

"You just said it again."

"Grow up."

"You grow up."

And that's that. Sam doesn't realise it but he's just been diverted and distracted by a little bit of good old fashioned Winchester manipulation. Dean knows that Sam thinks he's the only one who can do that which suits him fine because it means Sam doesn't even notice when he's been done over. He really doesn't want to have to answer any questions right now. He feels uneasy about the whole thing as it is. He knows it must be serious if Bobby wants to meet him alone but something about Bobby's tone had been bugging him, something about the fact that they had to meet at this specific place and the fact that Bobby had been so hush hush about the whole deal but there had been something else. Something he can't figure out, can't articulate even in his own head and for some reason something - just something about it just feels very, very wrong.

Dean grabs his jacket and is about to leave his brother but he only gets half way through the door before Sam stops him.

"Dean."

He turns around his stomach twisting. He recognises that tone and he knows it can only mean one thing and that's that Sam wants to start emoting or getting all touchy feely or come out with something which will result in one or both of them feeling like crap or worse getting all weepy eyed although he swears that it won't be him.

Sam just stares at him, fully dressed now thankfully and does that thing with his eyebrows and that other thing with his jaw which always,_ always_ gives Dean that sick feeling in his gut.

"You know I haven't given up on you right?"

Dean frowns and leans lightly against the open door trying not to grind his teeth because Sam's voice has that familiar edge to it that tells him his worse fears are true.

"I mean I know what I said, about preparing for when...for when you're gone but..."

He stops to clear his throat and looks away for a second or two, blinking a little too quickly for Dean's liking.

"It doesn't mean I've given up. And I know you have..."

"Sam..."

"No, I know - it's obvious, I can see it in your eyes and it's ok. Really. But _I_ haven't. And I won't."

He shrugs a little and Dean can't speak, just feels his throat constrict and his eyes sting so he tries to swallow and hopes that Sam doesn't notice the huge boulder he's just tried to force down his neck.

"Guess I'll just have to fight for the both of us right?"

Dean glances downwards, than back up again but his eyes can't seem to find Sam's and what he really wants is to shrug it off, to make some lame ass comment and jerk around but for some reason he doesn't seem to be able to come up with the words or even make his vocal chords work. Because Sam's right, he has given up, because he knows now, knows for certain that there is no saving him but he thinks what a complete asshole it would make him if he were to tell Sam what Ruby had told him. So he doesn't. He doesn't make a joke, doesn't smirk, doesn't laugh it off he just nods and his eyes finally find his brother's and he keeps them there even though it hurts more than anything.

"Sure, Sammy."

And then he leaves and for some reason, some unknown mystery when the door slams shut Sam gets the worst feeling in the pit of his stomach, a flash of something he can't quite determine, a niggling, nagging doubt and a strange sensation in his head that seems to be telling him something - something he can't figure out, something he doesn't understand and something that just feels very, very wrong.

"**_Dean_**!"

But Dean doesn't hear him. Dean's in his car before Sam's managed to get his legs to work and by the time the motel is in his rear view mirror, Sam has convinced himself that maybe it was a weird form of deja vu, or maybe he was in the shower too long and the heat has gone to his head or maybe he just needs a holiday. He opens his lap top with the intention of doing research on the only thing that's worth researching these days and tells himself that everything is fine.

----------------------------------

Its early afternoon when Dean arrives at the co-ordinates Bobby had sent to his cell phone. Bobby had sure picked a beauty of a spot to meet. He pulls the car off the road and on to the dry waste land, the stones and grit crunching under the tyres. The sun glares through the windshield causing him to squint as he steps out on to the rough ground, his eyes sweeping across the area. He hadn't seen an inhabited building for several miles and he doesn't reckon that the one before him is any different. He thinks to himself that it must be an old, disused warehouse, abandoned and forgotten, left alone to become home to wildlife, the odd winged creature, overgrowth and anything else that could find it's way inside it's many cracks and holes. He wonders if Bobby could possibly have chosen a bigger freaking stereotype than this heap of brick and despair with its boarded up windows and foliage growing out of every unsealed orifice, the prickly, unwelcoming bushes and grasses surrounding it in a protective embrace suggesting that it hadn't seen or allowed entry to many visitors recently. He thinks that it must be some kind of haunting that Bobby wants to discuss because if this place isn't haunted then there is absolutely no justice whatsoever.

He feels the crunch of gravel and broken glass under his boots as he wanders around the building, senses on alert, his hand brushing the skin of his weapon ready for any unexpected interruption. He treads carefully over a section of fencing obviously once intended to keep unwanted visitors out but now little more than a minor obstacle to even the most careless of folk.

He keeps telling himself that there is a perfectly good reason why Bobby had instructed him to come alone and the reason the hackles on the back of his neck are rising is because this place is damn spooky, even in the watered down sunlight that reflects off the few windows still in place. He treads carefully around the exterior, finds more broken glass, rotten timber and the odd syringe and tries not to cringe at the filth and the hopelessness it implies. The place is eerily quiet and he almost daren't move or breathe for fear of disturbing the stillness and he can't help but feel like an intruder, daring to trespass on this forgotten land, bringing unwanted and unwelcome attention to a place that had just wanted to be left alone.

The low sun is warming on his face but the wind sends a chill through him and he shivers much more than he should have and then something makes him freeze. He can't identify it, he can't hear it and he can't see it but it's that feeling that some call fate, some E.S.P. and some just plain old fashioned instinct but it's the same feeling he's been having since hanging up on Bobby only magnified by a disturbing amount and he feels an incredible urge to turn back and get in his car and drive far and fast as if unheard voices are screaming at him to move, to get the hell out of there but there is nothing no sound except for the pounding of blood in his ears and the increasingly rapid thump of his heart.

But he doesn't move, the paralysis terrifying and it's all he can do to control his breathing but then a noise like boots on glass at his rear seems to break him free of his inertia and without a moment's delay he spins on his heel eyes wide with fear, his hand sliding his gun out of his pocket and taking aim in one fluid motion, arms outstretched, muscles and tendons taught, his jaw clenched.

The man in his sights stares back, doesn't move and Dean exhales.

"Bobby! You scared the crap outta me."

He drops his arms, the relief tempered slightly by the sombre expression and dark eyes staring back at him.

"Dean?"

He laughs nervously and frowns noticing the gun in Bobby's grip, confusion and a hint of fear rippling through him as the older man retaining his position waiting a response.

"Last time I checked."

He holds the man's gaze as he takes a step closer, cocks his head to the side, eyes questioning but suddenly erased and replaced with fear as the arm swings at him giving him no time to react against the butt of the gun colliding with his head, the force pivoting him almost one hundred and eighty degrees to his right, before finally colliding, face first with the cold, unpitying earth.

TBC

Sorry I know - cliff-hanger and short. Sorry. Sorry. Don't throw eggs at me.

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	10. Chapter 10

**Sorry about the long wait but I had a blockage with this chapter - couldn't seem to face writing it. It's quite a bit lengthier than usual so hopefully that might make up for making you wait so long. Thanks for being patient.**

**_Warning: This chapter will contain torture scenes involving a major character and I bet you can't guess who - but nothing gory or graphic I promise._**

**Chapter 10**

When Dean opens his eyes his head explodes. There's pain and noise and a feeling of stickiness down the side of his face. He blinks. And then again but the blurriness doesn't clear and he can only make out pools of weak light, dotting in and out of his vision, unidentifiable shapes and shadows fading in and out as the light changes, alters, moves around him. There's a distinct smell of damp and dirt. Dust, soil, rotten wood and it's cold. No breeze or wind but it's cold. Stale. No air. He tries to lift his hand, tries to touch the stickiness on his head, tries to figure out how bad it is but his hands won't move. The tugging motion brings a throb and a tingling sensation into his arms and then a rush of panic sweeps through him as he realises that his hands won't move because they're tied. Tied at the wrists, pulled behind his back, behind a beam or post that his back is pressed against, supporting him, his legs stretched out uselessly in front of him on the ground.

He fingers at the ropes, touches them, feels the coarse fibres digging into his skin, twists the joints tries to wriggle them free, tries to rub them against the beam but he can't. The ropes are too tight and he can do very little with them. The fearbuilds in his gut causing him to struggle involuntarily, panic, terror taking control, he pulls and twists and fights but nothing happens except the exertion tires him increasing the pain in his head and a thin sheen of sweat appears, causing a sharp sting as it comes into contact with the sticky wound.

He stops for a moment, takes a breath, breathes in the unfamiliar air, tries to focus, tries to remember why or how he had ended up here and as his eyes adjust to the light he sees movement in front of him, a figure stepping closer and then stooping to his level. His eyes re-focus, adjust to the face in front of him, he blinks away the haze and stares into a pair of eyes he should recognise but for some reasonsees no familiarity there.

"Bobby, what's going on? You wanna get me outta here?"

The head shakes from side to side, the expression a little sad.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Dean."

Dean swallows thickly, feels his teeth grinding against each other as his jaw tightens, eyes wide, his breath coming out hard and heavy.

"What?"

His voice sounds so pathetic, he can hardly make it work and he doesn't understand, doesn't understand the look that Bobby is giving him, doesn't understand the disgust in the once familiar, once warm, once comforting eyes.

"Well technically I can, but...well I kinda don't wanna."

His heart starts to pound in his chest so hard he can feel the rhythm, can count the beats and his skin feels sticky with perspiration and he gives the ropes around his wrists another tug as the fear tries to take hold.

"Bobby..."

A brutal punch flies into his left cheek knocking his head sideways and then a hard backhand sends it back the other way. He tries and fails not to cry out, his eyes screwing shut, tries to breathe through the shock and the pain, forces back the sensations, the throbbing, the ache, the hammering and finally turns back to face the man, the stranger wearing his friends face. He shakes his head slightly refusing to believe what his brain is yelling at him, what his memories are screaming at him, what he knows to be true, the only explanation, the only possible reason. But this is Bobby, he can't be.

"Guess again."

The face blurs into nothing and he feels the darkness return for him.

* * *

Sam is doodling. He's looking out of the window distracted while his hand sketches patterns, pictures, lines and swirls on the note pad in front of him. Sam is bored. He'd been doing some research on the lap top but had found it almost impossible to concentrate, as if there was a small child in his brain poking and prodding at him to take a break form the daily toil and come and play with him. Realising that he was getting no where he had closed the lap top and made himself a coffee, hoping that it would help. It hadn't.

Now his fingers work unnoticed, slowly scrawling and scratching away at the paper, aimlessly, without purpose, making little sense to anyone other than the deranged and distracted artist in Sam's head. A car goes past outside; his eyes follow until it disappears into the distance and then return to the spot they were previously fixed on. A man bent over, crouched on the ground making a really crappy job of changing the tyre on his car. He doesn't seem to know what he's doing and Sam considers going out to offer a hand but for some reason seems transfixed on the number plate. It's dirty, splattered with mud but Sam can still read the numbers.

He finds the numbers fascinating. Well, two of the numbers, as they're standing out a little more than they should like those magic eye pictures that you have to stare at for a very long time before the image comes into view. He thinks to himself that his brain must have gone way beyond bored to be drawn to something so mundane. He sighs frustrated, runs a hand across his face before tearing off the top sheet he'd abused with his graffiti and discarding it in the trash bin behind him. He gets up to use the bathroom, more out of boredom than a need to answer a call of nature. Once relieved he lies down on his bed, hands tucked behind his head staring lazily up at the ceiling.

* * *

A freezing shock of icy cold water jolts him up as he realises he must have passed out again. His eyes scan the area in front of him, teeth chattering, nerves and bones ragged with cold, with shock and with dread. He hears a thud as a bucket is discarded by the man who he used to know as Bobby Singer but now barely recognises. He hears the scrape of something along the floor his eyes finally readjusting and looks up at the man, sat on a stool or chair or something in front of him, glaring down, eyes cold, dark and holding nothing but hate.

He breathes in sharply, the cold making it difficult to speak without stuttering, gives himself a minute, stares into the eyes staring back, tries to make sense, tries to think, tries to understand.

"Who are you?"

The laughter sends a shiver through him that has nothing to do with the cold. He stands kicks the chair to one side then crouches so their faces are inches apart. The fingers grasp his chin forcing his head up, forcing him to stare into the cold, soulless orbs that show him nothing but darkness now. Laughter again, bitter and altered and wrong and then he sees it, thinks he's hallucinating, thinks he's mistaken and the laughter increases as he gasps, memories flooding back to him, spoken words tormenting him as the color in those eyes disappears and gives way to an unnatural and blinding white.

_"You know that I was possessed? That's how I got into all this. White Eyed Demon stole my body and made me do Very Bad Things."_

"No."

The head bobs up and down slowly.

"Yes."

"I don't..."

"What? Understand? Of course you don't Dean; I mean that's what happens when you go off whoring while the brains are being handed out."

"What do you want?"

"What instead of a shave and a slightly better looking host you mean? The last one was a whole lot prettier but she wouldn't stop screaming in my damn head. Had to put her out of her misery. Besides, old Redneck and I go back years."

He smiles, cocks his head.

"As for my old friend _Irony_, or whatever, she was perfect. Cute as a button _and_ she knew when to shut the hell up. Shame I had to snap her skinny little neck."

"You killed her."

"Wow, you really should get your I.Q. tested. A few more points and you might be a health risk. Yes, Dean I killed her. Nothing personal, she understood that, but I had no use for her anymore. Not after she led me to you."

"What?"

The laughter again.

"Of course, I wasn't entirely sure what to expect from the two of you, all grown up as you are, but when you showed up at that diner like you did, beating your chest like some devolved ape it was pretty damn obvious that I'd hit jackpot. Come to think of it, if it wasn't for you she might still be alive. Another one to add to the list huh Dean?"

He shakes his head again, ignores the taunting, ignores the stab of guilt trying to distract him.

"Much as I'm lovin' all this, you still haven't told me what you want. I mean are we supposed to know each other, cos you know I think I'd remember a demon with such a huge capacity for moronic."

"Dean, have you heard the old saying, the sins of the father shall be revisited on the son? Wanna know what it means?"

He frowns not understanding, the pain and fog in his head making it impossible to think clearly.

"It means, Dean that you're **_it_**."

"What the hell you talkin' about?"

"So it's true what they all say. Sam's the special psychic kid with all the powers whereas you're just _special._ I bet you were a real worry as a kid huh? Ever run round in circles chasing your tail? Stick things up your nose? Have a pet rock called Jimbob? Really it's a miracle you don't fall over more?"

He continues pacing again sighing heavily, a trait that is one hundred percent Bobby, but it sounds so wrong, feels so wrong.

"Dean, who do you think exorcised me? Sent me back to the pit. Whose flesh I'd like to tear apart and mould into a sheesh kebab but sadly because of you, I can't."

Reality hits him then, the truth. The truth which probably would have occurred to him sooner had it not been for the massive pain in his skull.

He shakes his head, refusing to believe it, feels his eyes sting, burning nausea rising up from his centre, doesn't speak, remains silent because to admit the truth would be to admit the level of shit he's in right now.

_Dad._

The pacing stops and the eyes sparkle as if he'd spoken, but he hadn't, hadn't needed to, because everything that he is, is audible and visible and nothing can be kept hidden.

"Well done. Knew you'd get it eventually. Course wasn't just you're Daddy. Fatso here played a big part too. Which is why as soon as I've had my fun with you, I figure I'll just switch bodies, use your meat suit to play Gut the Redneck and then go pay young Sammy a visit. That sound good to you?"

He struggles again, painfully tugging at the ropes, feels the fibres scrape his wrists knowing his face is involuntarily contorting into agonised expressions, bringing untold amusement to the living breathing scum facing him and he knows it's pointless, futile but hearing the people he values most threatened, hearing this _thing_ dare to mention his father is like a trigger setting off explosions in his brain, sending messages to every nerve ending, every limb, every muscle to wrench free of his constraints and use his bare hands to tear the demon out of the body of his friend and send it back to hell.

The figure stands and moves away from him, begins to pace. Dean closes his eyes, swallows back the burning in his throat, as the air rips through his lungs and out again in sharp, hitched gasps. He bites down hard, tries to still the tremors brought on by fear, blind fury and the icy cold, his shirt still clinging to his freezing skin. He keeps his eyes closed as the demon speaks to him. Tries not to listen, recognising the familiar playful tone of evil taunting him. Knows it's only a matter of time before his secrets, his private torments are dragged out once again and hurled back at him.

"You know Dean, I heard a lot about you while I was out of action. Of course the two of you were just kids when your Daddy and Uncle here sent me back but I gotta tell you, your reputation precedes you. When I heard about your deal I figured it was only a matter of time before young Sammy went looking for a cure to your little problem. Good job with that by the way. I gotta say I was shocked like a lot of folk. I mean no one ever heard of someone selling their soul for _one year_. I mean talk about a crappy deal. But I guess if your soul's that suck ass then you gotta take what you can get huh?"

He doesn't need to look to know that the face is grinning at him. He doesn't really need to listen to this either because he's heard it all before. The taunts, the jibes, the digs about the value of his soul and he's almost immune to it all these days. He opens his eyes to try and tell this thing that he isn't getting to him, that he isn't bothering him, that the torment doesn't hurt because he's better than that and wonders if he can convince himself then maybe he can convince the demon inside his friend.

He sighs heavily in an attempt at feigned boredom.

"Dude, are you planning on monologuing all day? Thing is I got one hell of a headache and I think there's a Bond Girl somewhere that I should be screwing."

He shoots his best smirk and follows the eyes as they come back round to face him.

"That the best come back you can manage, boy? I'm disappointed; I heard you were a real smart ass."

"Oh I'm just getting warmed up."

"Why don't I help you out with that?"

A hand reaches out towards his head, grips the side of his face, the thumb digging into his cheekbone and he feels the bravado wash away, feels his mask slipping, feels his defences crumbling and he cries out as pain rushes him and then increases ten fold every nerve exploding in fire, the screams erupt from deep in his throat, hard, guttural, deafening and they continue ringing in his ears long after the pain stops.

* * *

Sam is dozing and dreaming of cheer leaders with black, red, and yellow eyes. They're doing back flips and cartwheels and waving pom poms around. They're all brunettes and have asses that you could fit on a nickel. Oh yeah and they're chanting in Latin too. Sounds a little like an exorcism of some sorts. It's a little freaky but Sam sits in his chair on the front row enjoying the show until they throw their pom poms in the air and leap up on to one another's shoulders somehow forming a pentagram. Then they hold up score cards. Some have random letters on them, some symbols and some numbers. The numbers stand out, like a magic eye picture.

* * *

His head hurts again. Fog in his head and darkness in front of his eyes. His hands won't move. He'd forgotten they were tied. His head jerks upwards startled, eyes opening, the shape of the room appearing before him. Light and shadow. More shadow than light. Dirt, dust, rotting timber, metal. No sounds, just his breathing and his heart beating so very fast. This could be Hell he thinks. Could it? Is this Hell?

"Not quite."

Bobby. It's Bobby again but it's not Bobby because if it were, he wouldn't be looking at him like that and he would be in the process off untying his hands instead of looking at him with those eyes. Those eyes. They're not his eyes. Not Bobby's. Bobby is his friend. Bobby would help him. Bobby wouldn't glare with eyes sparkling while he sat tied to a post, helpless and afraid. Bobby would untie him and get him the hell out of there. Bobby would ask him if were alright, clean up the wound on his head, give him some ice for his throbbing cheek, some dry clothes and then cuff him, playfully for being so dumb as to let someone get the upper hand on him.

Bobby wouldn't hurt him.

Wouldn't.

He's standing now, moving up and away so he can't see the eyes anymore just the feet walking in front, back and forth, back and forth, tip tap tip tap, a twist, boot on concrete, dust crunching under foot then back again tip tap tip tap.

Dean swallows, his throat burns, his throat is dry and he needs water to cool the burn, doesn't think he'll be able to speak without his voice sounding raspy. Must have been the screaming. The screaming because of the pain. The pain that seemed to exist within him and smother everything, changing and altering him from the inside out, trying to take him away from himself, trying to eat away at his soul. And he still hears the screams. The screams from the past and those still to come, folding back through time and space to meet him and remind him. Remind him of the pain so he can't forget. His head still hurts. Throbs and pulsates. Feels crushed as if in a vice. Must be a concussion. He tries the ropes again just to be sure. His wrists hurt too. His wrists are burning and feel sticky. Stickiness making it's way to his fingers and the ropes feel wet.

"Don't worry about those, they'll hold. You aint going nowhere, boy."

"What do you want?"

He wonders why Bobby is so mad at him. Wonders why he hates him so much Wonders why he let this thing take him, control him.

"What does anyone want? Financial independence? A tighter ass? A bitch to inflict pain and suffering on?"

"It wasn't me..."

"Look, Dean, sometimes you have to take what you can get. Do I wish it was your Daddy who was sat there? Sure. But you know in a way this is worse. For him I mean. Do you think he can see us from where he's at? I'd love to see his face. You'd think he'd come and help you wouldn't you. Maybe he's enjoying the show."

"Somethin' tells me wherever Dad's at he has better things to do than to watch your crappy little pantomime. I mean come on, piss poor plot, low budget and the acting? It pretty much sucks."

A shrug.

"Doesn't matter. The end results still the same. You don't really understand how revenge works do you, Dean?"

"I know a thing or two."

"Ah yes, my old friend Azazel. That was a long time comin' for you huh?"

"I'm a patient guy."

Laughter.

"Was a time when I wouldn't need those ropes holding you. See when Daddy sent me back I kinda got demoted. Office politics can be a real bitch. I mean just when you think you're doing well some creep sneaks up behind you and kicks you in the ass. Not that I had an ass while I was down there. Still, I didn't lose all of my skills. Seems I can still get past your friend's anti possession tricks. Might come in handy in the near future."

"Let me guess, you wanna lead the army."

"Ahh not particularly. Y'see leading an army's all well and good but you know how it is. Long hours, early starts, no vacation; nah I guess that's more Azazel's style. He always was a work-alcoholic. Me on the other hand - I just wanna have fun."

More laughter.

"No I'm more interested in what the insides of your brother look like. I'm working on a piece of art work provisionally entitled: "The Intestines of Sammy Winchester". I'd also be interested to find out if Uncle Bobby is as fat and stupid on the inside as he is on the surface. You know he was actually gonna pull a gun on me? I gotta tell you it's a real pain being stuck in here. The guy's been having some damn awful gas and his dress sense sucks. But I'm tryin' to keep this as real as possible for you Dean, so you can get the most out of it. Of course when this is over I reckon _you'd_ make a real kick ass host. At least until D-day and the Hell pups tear off your pretty little face."

"You wanna get inside of me, huh?"

"Might be fun."

"See I'm flattered and all, but you're just not my type. Besides, that's fifth base and I don't go there on a first date."

"Oh, see now you've just hurt my feelings. You should mind your manners Dean, I was considering offering you a position, a get out of Hell free card, when the time's right and your body's stale dog meat, that is."

"Yeah, mind if I pass on that?"

"How long do you think you'll be able to hold on Dean? A year? A decade? How long before the fires of Hell strip away every ounce of who you are. Everyone thinks they can handle it, but no one ever does. In the end we all give in to who we were meant to be. And I gotta tell ya, it aint all that bad."

_Not everyone. Not everyone._

"What's that? You talkin' about Buffy the Demon Slayer? Come on Dean, you didn't fall for her did you? I suppose she is kind of your type. Blonde, lippy, legs all the way up to her ass. You should have seen her when she was still a human. Rumour has it she was a real hound."

"Like I already said. Demons: not my type. But she could come in useful."

"She's a nothing, Dean. A no one. You honestly think she can offer you hope?"

"Not me. Sam. And while he's alive, there's always hope right? My little brother's turning into a real baddass. You really don't wanna mess with him these days."

He swears he sees something then, something almost like fear but it's brief and he's not entirely sure it even happened but then his shit eating grin is thrown right back at him and the face lowers until they're eye to eye again and he can't prevent himself from flinching when the hand reaches out, tries to pull away tries to jerk his head away but the fingers grip his jaw forcing it back and then it starts again.

* * *

Sam wakes up in a small puddle of drool. It's late afternoon and he's a little groggy but decides that he should probably call his brother. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve with a grimace of disgust he reaches for his cell phone and hits what he thinks is the quick dial for Dean's number but in his dazed state of mind he inadvertently hits three random numbers instead. He frowns deleting them and tries a second time and is infuriated when he does the same thing. He sits up and rubs at his eyes, shakes his head trying to snap himself out of the haze. The third attempt he succeeds although the phone rings unanswered and eventually goes to voicemail.

"Dean, it's me. Call me ok?"

He flops back down on to the pillow, grimaces at the wet patch, sits back up and switches it with the pillow on the neighbouring bed. Grinning triumphantly, he falls back into a light slumber.

* * *

He's having a fantastic dream about his Mom. He knows it's a dream because his Mom is dead. She died on a ceiling surrounded by fire when he was four years old, just like he nearly did not so long ago. It was the demon that saved him. The demon killed his mom. Not the same demon a different demon. It doesn't really make sense he knows but that's what happened. Anyway, his Mom is here so he tries not to think about demons too much. She's making him a sandwich. It tastes good because she made it with her own hands and it didn't come out of some plastic packing and it didn't have to be warmed up in a microwave.

She's chatting to him and he's trying his hardest to listen but all the time he can hear something in the background like a radio or something and it sounds like someone screaming for help or maybe someone screaming in pain and he thinks that it's probably him but he chooses to ignore it anyway.

"Honey, do you think you could turn that down?"

She turns to him wincing a little as if the noise is bothering her and he swallows the last of his sandwich and looks up at her face, just stares at it for the longest time.

"Sweetie, please. Knock it off."

"I can't, Mom."

She sits down in front of him then and touches his cheek and he smiles but he feels sad on the inside not at all happy like she does.

"What's happened to you, Dean? Look at you."

The screams get louder then, not louder as in whoever it is has suddenly started screaming louder but louder as if they were coming from the next room and then someone just opened a door and the images of the room and his Mom lose some of their color as if one minute he'd been watching Dawson's Creek and the next he was watching some horror movie and he feels the panic as reality draws him closer.

"Mom, you have to help me."

She just smiles real sweetly at him then and tilts her head to the side sighing softly.

"I can't honey, but remember angels are watching over you."

"Mom."

The lights go off then and the pain returns along with the screams turned up to full volume.

* * *

Sam wakes up once again with that odd feeling of having had lots of freaky dreams but can't really remember any of them. He rubs at his eyes and checks the time. Then he checks his phone. No missed calls. Dean's been gone several hours, but he had said that he would be gone a few hours so it doesn't really bother him. Except that it does. Something is bothering him because for the simple reason he feels bothered. He'd learned from experience that you don't ignore instincts or gut feelings because even if they sounded irrational they could probably be explained scientifically even if they didn't know how to yet. Besides nothing about their lives has ever followed the rules of science so why shouldn't he take notice of the niggling, annoying prodding in his brain because he knows that if something unknown is bothering him then he has every reason to feel uneasy, suspicious and bothered.

That is why he picks up his phone and calls his brother. His brother who had left hours ago telling him he had some business to sort out and he had let him without even asking him about it. Somehow Dean had managed to sneak off without even telling him where he was going and Sam had just accepted it. The more he thinks about that the more he worries because he should never have let Dean leave without at least getting a location out of him even if Dean had insisted it was nothing for him to worry about. But even so it infuriates him that he could have been such an idiot.

The phone rings three times before he hears the familiar voice on the other end, his heart heaving a sigh of relief and every muscle suddenly relaxing as if they had been held tense for hours.

"Sammy, Whatsup?"

"Dean? You ok?"

"I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?"

"I dunno, I was just worried. You've been gone hours."

"Yeah I know, took a little longer than I thought. Listen, I think I'm gonna spend the night out here..."

"Dean, where are you?"

"Sam, would you quit your worrying."

"Why can't you just tell me where you are?"

"Well I could, but then I'd have to kill you."

He chuckles.

"Dean!"

"Look, Sammy. I'm just helping a friend who's in a little trouble. But I got it under control I promise. I'll be back first thing tomorrow, ok?"

"Dean, are you sure you're alright?"

"Sam, seriously. Unclench!"

"Ok, man. Just...be careful ok? And call me if..."

"If what, Sam?"

"I dunno, if anything comes up."

"Sure thing. Later bro."

Razakel the demon inhabiting Bobby Singer's body hangs up Dean Winchester's cell phone and uses Bobby Singer's facial muscles to grin triumphantly.

"Boy I just get better and better at that. I mean I'm like the T-1000."

He winks at the young man tied to the post who stares back at him blankly. Unappreciatively he thinks. A shame. Time to start again.

* * *

He's not sure how long it had lasted, how long he had been screaming for. He doesn't remember the pain coming to a halt and sometimes he thinks that he's still screaming but his brain has shut down and he can't hear it anymore. He swallows painfully, it hurts to swallow, hurts a lot because his throat is so dry and raw and it burns so much. He wonders how long he'll be able to scream for until his vocal chords give up producing noise. He's not even sure if he can speak anymore. He swallows again and thinks that he would kill for a drink of water and then as if someone had read his mind a bottle appears at his mouth, a bottle with a straw sticking out of it. The straw is pushed into his mouth and he sucks up the water allowing it to trickle down his throat, the cold soothing, comforting, somehow offering a sense of hope and he sucks again before coughing violently, the liquid almost choking him bringing tears to his eyes.

"Easy, son. Take it easy."

He recognises the voice but can't quite remember who or how he knows it and then a cloth comes to his head wiping gently back and forth, across his forehead down the side of his face and his neck. He blinks and tries to focus on the wrist working in front of him, follows it up the arm to the shoulder and finally to the face. He makes eye contact and thinks he knows the eyes staring back at him, the crows feet, the aging skin, the beard and he searches his brain for the man's name because he's sure he should know who it is but it's just on the tip of his tongue like an old relative who you hadn't seen for years and you just couldn't remember who the hell they were.

The straw is guided to his lips again and he sips slowly this time because the coughing fit had hurt like hell and he doesn't want that to happen again and besides the man had ordered him to drink slowly and he has the feeling that he should obey the man.

"Better?"

The voice again that he's sure he knows and he thinks he must be looking at the old guy a little confused because he frowns back at him a little.

"Dean? It's me, it's Bobby."

"Bobby."

His voice still works but it's even more croaky than before but at least it still works he thinks, which can only be a good thing.

"Bobby, that really you?"

He's met with a grin then, not a grin he recognises, not a grin that makes him feel safe and warm and secure, but a grin that causes his heart to plummet, that makes his stomach twist in fear and he feels his jaw tensing and teeth grinding as more tears spring into his eyes because the man who's staring at him isn't Bobby at all it's someone else, even though he looks just like him he just knows instinctively that it can't be him, like when you have a dream about someone you know but something isn't quite right about it - about _them -_ and all you want is to wake up and find that person to reassure yourself that they're still who you thought they were but you can't wake up no matter how many times you try you just can't seem to wake up even though sometimes you think you have but then you realise that you haven't and you're still trapped in the nightmare that's not really a nightmare because there's no monsters or ghosts or the things that normally show up in nightmares just familiar faces and surroundings which should make you feel safe but all they really do is make you afraid and you can't wake up. Not ever.

The man laughs. Laughs at him, and he wonders what he'd said that was so funny.

"Nah, Dean, I was just screwing with ya."

He closes his eyes, lets the darkness pull him back and blocks out the light.

* * *

_"Dean. Back from the dead. Getting to be a regular thing for you, isn't it? Like a cockroach."_

He wonders sometimes if there's a reason why he isn't dead yet. Sometimes likes to think that maybe there's a higher purpose, a reason for why he keeps escaping death. Or maybe he's just lucky. Or maybe not. Or maybe they don't want him to die. Maybe that would be too easy. Maybe it's more fun for them this way.

_"All that I had to hold onto was that I would climb out one day, and that I was going to torture you, nice and slow. Like pulling the wings off an insect." _

It wasn't Sam. Sam wouldn't say those things. Sam hadn't been able to stop it. He wasn't in control. Just like now. This - it isn't really real. Not really.

_"But whatever I do to you, it's nothing compared to what you do to yourself, is it? I can see it in your eyes, Dean. You're worthless. You couldn't save your Dad, and deep down you know that you can't save your brother. They'd have been better off without you."_

She'd been right he hadn't saved his brother. Well in a way he had, but not really. He hadn't got it at the time but he'd been starting to realise what it all meant. Sam isn't saved because Dean can see every time he looks into his eyes that he's dying a little more every day. He's been changing. Not his brother. Someone else. More like him.

_"Look after Sammy." "Watch out for Sammy." "Don't let anything happen to Sammy."_

_"I don't understand the blind faith you have in the man. I mean, it's like you don't even question him."_

_"Yeah, it's called being a good son!"_

He had been a good son. He had. He had. He'd followed orders. Tried to protect Sammy. Tried to keep the truth about his destiny from him. To protect him. Protected him from himself. He had been a good son.

* * *

"So, you having fun yet?"

He shakes his head because he's not all that sure how he's supposed to answer.

"You know Dean; a little gratitude might be nice. I mean I'm just tryin' to prepare you that's all. Of course I can't show you what it's really like, your feeble physiology wouldn't be able to take the strain. If I were to show you even a brief glimpse of the full extent of pure unadulterated Hell, your brain would implode in a matter of milliseconds and where would be the fun in that. I'm telling you Dean, Hell gives the word unimaginable a whole new meaning but you'll find out soon enough. Think of this as a toned down version, an appetizer if you will."

He doesn't really understand what he's being told and he tries to shut it out because he doesn't like the sound of the man's voice anymore because it reminds him of someone he knows but he doesn't know how to find him. He really wants to find the man he knows, because if he can find him, then maybe he can wake up.

* * *

Sam had waited until late to fall asleep again. He'd watched some TV, read some books on demonology that Bobby had given him, researched and googled the usual list of topics, gone out for something to eat, done some more research, had a few beers and then watched some more TV. He'd fallen asleep while watching and not laughing at some lame sit-com that really needed to be introduced to the concept of humour.

Right now though he's asleep again. Back wandering through vivid, yet surreal dreams of places and people he knows but can't remember how. He's sat talking to a man called Bobby but Bobby isn't making a sound. His lips are moving and his hands are gesturing but there's nothing coming out of his mouth and then suddenly they're not at Bobby's house anymore they're at a diner. He feels like he's been here before but you often get that feeling when you're dreaming so he thinks nothing of it. A waitress wearing a trucker's cap wanders over and hands him a menu. He glances over but doesn't see anything he fancies. It's all numbers anyway. Just a list of numbers and they don't sound very appetising. He doesn't feel like numbers today so he hands the menu back to Bobby and that's when he realises he isn't wearing his cap.

"Bobby, I didn't know you were bald under there."

Bobby shoots him the Look of Death™ and silently mouths:

"I'm not bald yet, you little shit."

Sam laughs and Bobby orders a handful of numbers without actually speaking.

* * *

The man bites into a sandwich or something, a burger maybe. Yes he thinks it's a burger because he can smell the meat. The smell makes his stomach turn and he thinks he might throw up which is odd because he normally likes the smell of meat. At least he thinks he does. Maybe he doesn't, maybe that's why the smell makes him want to throw up because actually he's a vegetarian and he'd just forgotten. Forgotten like he'd forgotten the man's name or who he reminds him of.

"Do you like poetry, Dean?"

He doesn't think that he does but he's not sure. Sam likes poetry he thinks or did he just used to pretend he did so he could get girls. He'd read a bit, in school but most of it was just sap.

"I _love_ poetry. This..."

The man talks with his mouth full and then gestures with his hand, the hand that isn't holding the burger. Then swallows.

"_This_ is poetry."

He feels his head shaking but he doesn't remember telling it to.

"Your Daddy - and Bucko Bob here, sent me to Hell. And now _I'm_ sending you to Hell. Using Billy Ray's meat suit."

He moves a little closer and crouches down so he can smell the burger even more and he can smell the man's breath and it smells of burger and tomato ketchup and he tries to hold his breath because it just makes him want to throw up.

"If that isn't poetry Dean, I dunno what is."

The man reaches out with his free hand then and he flinches but he just gives him a light smack to the side of his face and he's grinning again and he wonders if he'd meant to hit him harder or if he was just being playful. He hadn't hit him that hard but he gets the feeling that he wasn't being playful either because that grin is making him shiver all the way down his spine. He hates that grin. It's like seeing someone you know doing something totally out of character, like raising their left eyebrow when you know that they can't, or making their head spin round three hundred and sixty degrees when you know that heads aren't supposed to do that or watching someone you love, someone who you thought loved you, hurt you, shoot you, hit you over and over and then laugh about it.

"It's not just that though is it, Dean? I mean you can't help but see the pattern that's forming can you?"

He doesn't say anything or even move because he has no idea what he means by a pattern and he doesn't understand why the man keeps talking to him like they're old friends and then stopping to send the fire into him again. Every time he thinks that maybe it's the last time but the fire comes back. He talks for a while says a bunch of stuff that doesn't make much sense then he touches his face with his hand and there's nothing but fire and pain and it hurts like - like Hell.

"I mean I could have kept the waitress. And if it wasn't for the whole family connection thing and knowing how much fun I was gonna have using his flesh jacket to pick you to pieces, then I would have used that whore. But like I said it's all in the poetry - I like things to have meaning. You understand that don't you Dean? How important it is for your life to have _meaning_?"

Something flashes in his head then a sharp painful memory and he tries to block it out because he knows that if it takes hold it will hurt too much and he doesn't want it to hurt, he wants it to stop hurting not start or get worse because when it does hurt, it hurts so much and he's not sure how much more he can take or how much longer he can hold on.

"Let's just look back shall we, first there was Azazel and your Daddy. That must have been a rush huh boy? D'you think that maybe there was a part of your Dad that enjoyed it, that got a kick out of finally telling you the truth? Then his daughter inside Sam, I mean that was just beautiful. I heard she really kicked your skinny little ass. Tell me what was it like watching the people you love rip you apart?"

He doesn't answer because he's afraid to use his voice in case it doesn't work properly or in case it hurts too much or in case he starts to cry.

"And now Uncle Bobby. That's what you used to call him right? He's always been apart of your family aint he? He means a lot to you doesn't he?"

He clamps his mouth shut because he really doesn't want to speak although he wants to scream at the man to shut the hell up and he wishes he could get his hands free so that he could just rip him to shreds and he wonders if the man knows what he's capable of right in this moment and whether he's scared or not but then the man laughs which strongly suggests that he isn't scared at all and in fact finds it hilarious that he's trying to glare at him in a menacing way when he's tied to a post, with a head injury, terrified and confused and he's glad of the tears that fill up in his eyes because they cloud his vision which means he can't see the man properly anymore.

He stoops again so they're face to face, but he keeps his turned away so he won't have to look at him.

"Aw come on, you can tell me. You know he's listening right? Thought I'd keep him awake so's he could watch the show. So if there's somthin' you wanna tell him before I switch us round and use your baby soft hands to rip his hairy face off - now's your chance."

His head snaps back then and he's looking into Bobby Singer's eyes and he remembers who he is because he's Bobby, his friend, his friend who wouldn't hurt him but at the same time he's not, he's someone else and he can't make his brain understand that.

"Bobby, if you're in there, you can stop this..."

His voice breaks off partly because it hurts to speak and partly because he's about a second away from crying although there are already tears running down his cheeks and he's not sure if that counts or not.

The head shakes from side to side a little sadly he thinks which like most things doesn't make any sense.

"Boy, you're just breaking my heart."

A hand grasps the side of his face as before and he involuntarily closes his eyes his head jerking back against the pole, he cries out from deep in his throat before the pain even starts and he's begging the man to stop.

"No-no-no-no-no...Please, don't. **_DON'T!_**"

But the fire returns accompanied by his now hoarse, dry screams.

* * *

_"Dean, why don't you touch up your car before you get rust? I wouldn't have given you the damn thing if I thought you were gonna ruin it."_

The car. The car. The car. The car is smashed up. The car was almost a right off but he'd fixed it. But the window is shattered and the hood all dented. Because of him.

"Dad?"

"What the hell are you doing Dean?"

"Dad."

"You're supposed to be looking after, Sam."

"I always look after him, Dad."

"Is that what you call it? You had one job, Dean. One lousy job and you screwed it up."

"I tried, Dad."

"You weren't paying attention. Too busy with those damn arcade games and look what happened."

"Dad..."

"You got him killed, Dean. What the hell were you thinkin'?"

_"Take your brother outside as fast you can, don't look back."_

"I wouldn't have given him to you if I'd thought you were gonna screw it up."

"Dad, I'm sorry..."

"You let me down, Dean."

"No, Dad, wait. I brought him back. Sam's fine."

"What about you? How you supposed to take care of him if you're in Hell?"

"Dad...I tried, I really did."

"Not good enough."

"Dad, please...don't go."

"I have to. There's nothing for me here anymore."

"Dad? DAD!"

_"Take some responsibility for yourself, Dean."_

He's not sure he knows how. Dad was always responsible for him. And now he never seems to know what to do. He'd thought he was doing the right thing. What his Dad would have wanted. Protecting Sam at all costs. Even at the cost of his soul because his soul didn't matter only Sam mattered. Matters. Sam matters. But Sam is dying. He didn't save Sam, he killed Sam. Failed.

* * *

Sam doesn't wake up when a car horn sounds from outside. He's sleeping soundly drooling fresh saliva on to his brother's pillow. Sam always dreams. Sometimes they're good, sometimes they're bad.

Sometimes, Sam dreams about his mother, about his father and what life would have been like if they were both still breathing. Sam dreams about Jess and the children they would have had. Two boys and a girl. The boys take after Jess, warm, loving and outgoing, but his daughter is just like him; thoughtful, sensitive, compassionate and she wants to be just like her Uncle Dean. She even steals his lines, thinks that children's TV 'sucks out loud' and when Sam tucks her in at night, kisses her, tells her he loves her she rolls her eyes and sarcastically asks God to kill her, now.

Sometimes, Sam dreams about his brother's wedding and how drunk they were at the stag party. Sam is Best Man and gives a speech which has everyone in hysterics. Although there's not many people there because nearly everyone they know is dead. Bobby gives a speech too which makes them both go quiet and awkward and then it's Dean's turn. Dean toasts his new wife, thanks her for saving his life and his soul and he very nearly cries but no one makes fun of him.

Sometimes the good dreams change and sometimes they don't but they always end the same. Sam has nieces and nephews and sons and a daughter and a family that love him and a brother who is happy.

* * *

Dean is in pain again. Dean can't remember what it's like to not be in pain. Dean sees his father and the yellow eyed demon and they're both laughing at him. He's not sure why they're laughing because they're both dead.

The demon's taunting him again. Talking about Sam. But then it's his Dad. They keep changing, switching between one another, one minute it's the demon the next it's his Dad so that in the end he can't tell who's who.

_"You of all people should know that what's dead should stay dead."_

_"I gave you an order, Dean."_

_"How certain are you that what you brought back is one hundred percent, pure Sam?"_

_"He's gonna tear you apart. He's gonna taste the iron in your blood."_

"You're not real. None of this is real."

He shakes his head trying to sound bored, chuckles slightly, then laughs again at the inappropriateness of it.

_"Funny, but that's all part of your M.O., isn't it? Mask all that nasty pain, mask the truth."_

"Truth? You want the truth? You can't handle the truth."

He laughs again, weakly, somewhat hysterically at his own lame joke.

His Dad, or maybe Yellow Eyes, shakes his head clearly not amused.

_"The truth is they don't need you. Not like you need them. Sam – he's clearly John's favorite. Even when they fight, it's more concern than he's ever shown you."_

"You're not my father."

They disappear then and instead of the demon and his Dad it's Lisa and Ben staring at him.

* * *

Sam dreams about being possessed by a demon. Sam dreams about the man he killed, about the daughter who grieves for him and the sensation of his brother's face impacting with his fist. He dreams about the words he tortured his brother with and the look in his eyes when he dug his finger into the hole that he had put in his shoulder.

Sam dreams about his brother's last day on earth. Sometimes he dreams that the Hell hounds never show up, that Dean doesn't die, that Dean doesn't go to Hell and they sit and watch the sun rise over the grand canyon until the first day of the rest of their lives begins and they both fall asleep leaning against each other, alive and whole and at peace.

"You're not his father, Dean."

He doesn't know what to say then because he hadn't expected to see either of them again but they're both just staring at him blankly like they're waiting for him to speak.

"Lisa."

"Thank God for that huh? I mean what kind of father would you have made?"

"I loved you Dean, but we never really stood a chance."

"Cassie?"

He looks around for Ben and Lisa but they're gone, Cassie is stood there instead.

"There was never any hope for us, Dean."

"There's always hope, Cass."

"No Dean, there isn't."

Cassie vanishes then and now it's Bobby looking down at him, looking pissed and it's the Bobby he knows, not the weird altered dream like Bobby who he hardly recognises, it's Bobby how he remembers him but he's still pissed and somehow he thinks he knows why.

"I got a job to do and a life to live and I figure it would be best for everyone if I did it as far away from you as possible. You're on your own son."

"Bobby, wait."

But then he's gone and Dean is alone again.

* * *

Sometimes, Sam dreams nightmares. Sometimes he dreams the Hell hounds come early, or they worked out the last day all wrong and they take Dean before he has a chance to say goodbye. They come when he's not there, when he's out collecting pizza and when he comes back, he's too late and his brother is lying in several pieces all over the motel room floor. Sometimes Sam can hear Dean screaming for him when he pulls up in the car lot, he drops the pizzas and runs inside but always he's too late. Tonight though he isn't. Tonight he wakes up in time.

* * *

It takes him a long time to recognise the absence of pain. He waits for it, expects it, anticipates it but it never comes. His head still hurts, obviously, and his wrists are sore and his back aches a lot but it's a different type of pain to what he'd expected. Pain from injuries sustained. He's used to that. He's used to every limb throbbing, every muscle aching, fatigue and exhaustion begging him to rest. He's not afraid anymore either but he's not sure why.

He can feel warm air tickling his face. Someone close, uncomfortably close, staring, breathing gently on to his skin. His eyes feel sticky hard to open but they do eventually and he sees there's definitely someone staring at him. He isn't sure who though because the light's poor and his vision isn't at it's best. It's sometimes like that in a morning. When he wakes and he's trying to remember which state he's in, which motel and what time it is by the amount of light coming in through the window. Something doesn't feel quite right though because instead of a pillow under his head there's something hard and uncomfortable and it's not so much underneath his head as behind it because he's not lying down but sat upright.

He blinks a little. Swallows. Swallows again. Then blinks some more. Coughs.

The face takes shape, the blur of brown becomes a mop of hair and the dots turn into eyes with eyebrows and eyelashes and pupils and corneas. He can't make out the color because the light's poor. When there's no light you can't see color, or if there's a little light the colors are muted because it's all to do with light. Sam would be able to explain it properly. Sam. His little geek brother.

Sam.

"Sammy?"

He feels a hand on his neck then his forehead, cool to the touch, yet soft, familiar, safe.

"Sam?"

He says it again because the first time it came out croaky, cracked, barely audible as if he'd been doing a lot of shouting or singing.

"Hey."

The face speaks softly to him and even though he realises that everything hurts, it's ok because he knows that voice. Knows that wherever he is it will be ok because someone is here who will take care of him. Someone is here who will explain why his head is pounding and his throat his burning, someone who will tell him why his hands aren't obeying his brain and someone who will explain why Bobby was here and why he was so pissed with him.

"Sam?"

"I'm here."

The hand moves to his cheek, stays there, drawing him back, drawing him out, connecting him with the present.

Sam's here. Sam's here. Sam's here.

Sam's being a huge giant girl and trying to wipe the blood and sweat off his face with his hands but he's actually just moving it around and he stops moving around and then he's just touching him, for no apparent reason but he doesn't want to pull away from the contact he just wants to stay there and feel Sam's hand on his face, holding him still, keeping him here, where everything is normal and familiar and safe.

He closes his eyes and absorbs the feeling of his brother being close to him, allows it to ease the throb in his limbs, the ache in his chest and the agony left behind by memories that he can hardly recall but still linger in the forefront of his mind. But it's ok because Sam is here and Sam will make everything go away just by smiling at him, just by talking to him, just a few words, even if they don't mean anything, even if it's a jibe or an insult, it won't matter because it's Sam.

But then Sam removes his hand and he misses it straight away as if he's lost something vital, something essential to his well being, like a limb or an organ and he opens his eyes to search for the hand and it's a little like slipping into a dream or waking up from one but he can't figure out which because now Sam isn't doing anything. Sam is sitting looking at him and his head is still bleeding and his hands are still tied and he still can't remember why. He struggles to get his hands free of the burning ropes, the ones that feel like chicken wire wrapped around his torn wrists. Nothing happens. He struggles again and Sam just watches. Sam doesn't move or say anything and his expression isn't what he'd expect it to be and he doesn't know why Sam isn't helping or why Sam is just watching or why Sam hasn't got him the hell out of there so that he can take him back to the motel and fuss and cluck over him like he always does until the swelling in his head has gone or the aching in his arms and back and face has subsided.

He tries to speak but all that happens is he produces this really pathetic whimper almost becoming a sob and he feels the ache in his throat that in turn brings tears to his eyes.

"Sam."

"I gotta go."

"No. Don't go."

"I have to, Dean. I can't live like this anymore."

"Sam, please."

"I need to live my own life. I can't follow you and Dad around anymore."

He doesn't understand why Sam is talking about Dad because he's sure that Dad is dead. Dad died so that he might live. The deal. The deal with the yellow eyed demon. The deal which sent him to Hell. The deal which sent _him_ to Hell.

Sam's moving out of focus now and he finds his eyes are darting around all over the place trying desperately to find him, trying to find Sam, but Sam's moving away, going away.

"Sam!"

He's panicking now because he thinks that he's alone again but he finally looks up and sees Sam staring down at him the once gentle eyes devoid of their usual warmth and now full of disdain and hate.

"I'm different, Dean. I'm special, I deserve better than this. _I'm not pathetic like you_."

Then he disappears and Dean screams his name over and over, pleading with him to come back and he feels so ashamed that he's been reduced to such pitiful begging but he doesn't care because he'd give anything not to be alone again and then suddenly the light in the room changes as if he's just opened his eyes and he's gasping for air, his heart suddenly pounding and he can feels tears running down his cheeks, mingling with the sweat, the sweat brought on by fear, confusion and paranoia. But his hands are still tied and he still hurts everywhere.

* * *

Sam only wakes into another dream. He's trying to find his brother but he's not sure why and he can hear dogs barking and his brother screaming and he's sure he should know what that means but he doesn't. He's wandering around some waste land and there's the odd grave stone which he sometimes stops to read but they only ever have numbers on them. One of them doesn't look much like a grave stone. In fact it's actually a big sign with red flashing lights on it that spell_ 'Alfie's Diner'._ He thinks that's a little odd, having a sign for a grave stone but then his thoughts are interrupted by a lot of grunting and yelping.

He turns a corner to see Buffy and Bela fighting. Buffy is kicking Bela's ass but you can only tell it's Buffy in the close ups. From a distance she's a little taller and the hair's a little straighter. From the back, from the distance she looks a lot like Ruby. Ruby is Buffy's stunt double. They circle round each other then Buffy spins and lets fly with her boot knocking Bela to the ground. Sam gets a little turned on at what's going to happen next but then Bela spoils it all by turning into the frigging ghost whisperer. She then bursts into tears and runs off.

A second later Buffy turns around but she's Ruby again and punches him hard knocking him out. When he comes to, Ruby is sat on Dean's knee who is gagged and tied up in a chair. Ruby's hair falls out then so she's totally bald and she starts to nibble on Dean's ear and he's obviously not enjoying it. He growls and grunts through his gag, begging Sam to get her off, struggling violently and Sam begins to panic because he wants to help his brother but he can't move and then he falls to his knees holding his head and screaming in pain and Dean screams with him.

He's still screaming when he wakes up.

"Dean!"

"What now Sam?"

"Everything okay with you?"

"Everything's peachy, Sam."

"Good, good. I was er... just checkin' in that's all. You still comin' back tomorrow?"

"Hopefully, yeah."

"Hey, Dean, what's the weather like out there?"

"Overcast and cold, why?"

"No reason; saw on the news that a storm was on its way."

"No nothin' like that here."

It should have been clear. The response that Sam should have received had he been really talking to his brother should have been: "Sunbeams and rainbows, why?" spoken with either cheer or sarcasm depending on the situation.

A code they had come up with since all the possessions and mistaken identities had tried to screw them around. Of course they had known it wasn't sure fire. Any demon could read your mind but they had decided that while the sucker was rooting around in your subconscious hopefully something as mundane as the weather probably wouldn't attract much interest and would hopefully go unnoticed.

But the result was clear. Whoever that had been on the other line wasn't his brother.

* * *

"Are you getting bored yet? I'm bored."

He's not sure why he should be bored because he can't remember what it was they were doing and why it caused him to hurt so much. Maybe he is bored he thinks maybe he should say so but he doesn't want to upset the man, doesn't want to offend so he says nothing.

"Maybe we should try this with Sammy, what d'you think?"

He frowns a little because he's not sure what the man means but he thinks he'd rather Sam not be involved in whatever it is the man has in mind.

"Oh...already did that. Hmm, see we've done Mom, Dad, Sam, I'm racking my brains for any other loved ones we could use but I just can't..."

He paces up and down a little as if deep in thought.

"You wanna help me out here boy?"

"What do you want?"

He's surprised to hear himself speak because he can't remember the last time he used his voice. He can't even remember what day it is or how long he's been here tied to this post. It's darker than it was now. There's no light coming in from the outside but there is a small lamp providing a little light but it's getting really cold too. He tries to remember what he did with his coat and considers asking the man if he knows where it is but decides against it.

"You know what Dean? I got nothin'. I can think of only two living souls who give a rat's ass about you; one of em is possessed and the other one's the Anti Christ. Not looking good for you huh?"

Dean closes his eyes. Dean is tired. Dean wants to sleep and never wake up.

* * *

He's not sure what draws him to the note pad. It's placed neatly in front of him right where he left it when he was doodling and it catches his eye even though at first glance the page is blank. He only has to tilt the page slightly, allowing the light to reveal the imprint left behind by a pen or pencil; it is as clear as if whoever had created it had dug in has hard as they could. He doesn't even need to sketch over it to bring out the impression it's that clear. Five numbers. In a row. Not on a number plate. Not on score cards. Not on a menu. Not on a gravestone. They make perfect sense to him now.

Ex-Marine crap.

* * *

Light and shadow. Not much light. Footsteps tip tapping on the ground. Pain. Lots of. Always pain. And darkness. And shadow. You need light for shadow. And you need darkness. There is blood. And sweat. Sweat is salty. Salt on skin. Taste of salt and of blood. Pain in his head and pains in his arms and wrists. Faces in front and behind him, talking, crying, shouting, whispering, taunting. Hands on his shoulders and on his face. A fist to his jaw and another and another. Burning under his skin, like ants, fire ants. Someone screaming in his head and so much noise and sound and so much weight. Heavy. Heavy, too heavy, pushing him into the ground, sinking slowly, covered by earth and dirt. Has to close his eyes to block out the sounds of the screams,block out the noise, doesn't feel the pain anymore, can't feel his skin, can't hear his thoughts, can't feel his emotions, can't remember his name, can't remember if he has one.

And then it explodes.

Light. Yellow light and blinding like two suns. A roar. And then a crash of metal on metal. Things falling, dirt falling. Metal falling. Eyes are screwed up against the light, tries to dodge the falling things, tries to hide, to go away, to make stop what is happening because he doesn't know what is happening. Noise and confusion and fear and noise. Too much noise.

A noise louder than the other noise, a cry, feral like an animal with good vocal chords. The hand stuck to his face feeding him with the fire falls away, ripped away, as something flies in front of him and then a loud thud and the pain stops. It stops and so he waits for it to come back.

Voices. Angry. Loud and angry. Afraid. Inhuman screams, not like an animal, like something else. Words he doesn't understand, doesn't remember, but he does remember, remembers something, remembers fear, blackness, darkness, strange faces and words spoken from people who shouldn't be speaking such words, laughter, evil, black eyes, red eyes, a kiss, more screams, black smoke. Fear. The words get louder, a crescendo, like music, fluid, smooth disintegrating the darknessin the room and finally an agonised howl, again not like a human or an animal and he feels a wrench on his being, a tug, pulling a part of him outwards and it hurts, it burns, like a part of him is being ripped away, a dark hole, a rotting lump of dead flesh, a dead organ, pulled, torn, ripped out of him and he screams again as he feels the last wrench like an explosion in his chest leaving him empty of everything but fear. He finally opens his eyes, gaspingwhite hot burning breaths, he's crying again because it hurts and that's when he sees it, the final gust of a tornado of black smoke and sulphur rising upwards.

* * *

It had taken Sam over twelve hours to realise that something was wrong. Twelve hours too long to decide it was time to listen to his instincts and go find his brother. Twelve hours too long to figure out that the weird dreams and the images were his subconscious telling him he had the answer, he just hadn't realised it. Twelve hours too long. Too long and too late to prevent the events that had occurred, events that he could have stopped if he had only listened to himself. The second his brother had left he had known that something was wrong but once again, just like before he had failed to listen to his own instincts. Those same instincts that had been trying to tell him that Jessica was in danger, those same instincts that he had ignored.

The epiphany, the realisation had taken too long, finding a car to steal had taken too long, the journey had taken too long and his inspection of the building and the area had taken too long because if he hadn't taken so long scouting the place, finding an entrance, deciding on a plan then maybe he wouldn't have had to hear the sound of his brother's screams which had felt like a bullet to his chest and ultimately kicked him into action without thinking of the consequences.

He hadn't needed to think anymore it was clear what needed to be done. His brother was being tortured and all he needed to know was that the Colt was in his pocket and an exorcism was in his head.

Sam breathes heavily, adrenaline pumping, heart hammering painfully in his chest, out of breath but relieved to see the eyes of Bobby Singer staring back at him. The old man looks frightened and confused but equally relieved as he moves from underneath Sam, where he had thrown him to the floor, desperate, furious and determined to exorcise the demon before it had a chance to leave his body. He allows him to scuttle backwards away from him, pressing his back against the wall behind him and he offers the older man a brief, yet sympathetic glance before turning his attentions to his brother. The light from the headlights of the stolen car he'd crashed into the building only seconds earlier illuminates the tear tracks, the blood trails and the terror on his older siblings face, the skin pale, dirty and covered in a thin layer of perspiration.

He watches the eyes as they dart around the room, obviously riddled with panic, unable to focus on, or see, or make sense of anything. Sam inhales deeply, releasing the breath slowly before shuffling a little closer, reaches out a hand, gently touches the ice cold skin.

"Hey."

"Sam?"

"I'm here."

Dean closes his eyes and turns away, almost flinching as if expecting a blow or something worse. Sam pulls him back, his fingers firm but gentle on his chin.

"Dean?"

The eyes spring open, alive with terror and fury.

"Get away from me."

It's almost a growl, yet strangely calm, contradicting the storm threatening to blow just beneath the surface.

"Take it easy."

"Get. Away. From me."

"Dean. It's me, it's Sam."

He keeps his voice low, calm, speaks slowly and tries not to let Dean hear the tremors and then his heart breaks into fragments as the convincing yet brief display of resolve wavers and he sees his brother noticeably wince, the muscles in his jaw flexing, fresh tears appearing in his eyes, his head shaking ever so slightly.

"Don't."

"Ssh, it's ok."

He strokes the hair, damp with sweat and blood, tries to provide comfort, tries to dissolve his brother's fear, but Dean just keeps on shaking his head as if he finds Sam's touch torturous.

"Please. Don't."

"Bobby, untie his hands."

Bobby doesn't move, frozen, in shock probably, until Sam shoots an incensed and desperate glare in his direction.

"Now!"

Sam sees the old man move at the corner of his vision after returning his focus to Dean, sees him move slowly, carefully, almost painfully to Dean's rear, pulls a knife out of his back pocket and begins to work on the ropes now almost imbedded in Dean's wrists.

His eyes are darting around the room again, blinking rapidly trying to look anywhere other than at Sam.

Sam places his hand on his brother's cheek, ducks his head slightly and tries to get Dean's eyes to lock on to his.

"Dean. Look at me."

It takes a few seconds for him to obey and Sam is nearly torn in two by the undiluted terror and agony he sees there.

"Please. Don't... don't do this..."

"It's me Dean, it's just me."

"You have to stop. Please. I can't - I can't..."

"Ssh. Take it easy. I'm gonna get you outta here."

He places his free hand on the trembling shoulder just as the last of the ropes drop free, Dean apparently oblivious now to the pain caused by their damage. His hands are violently pushed away and Dean lunges forward and away from Sam, tries to stand and only gets half way before his limbs falter. Sam catches him before he hits the ground, gently lowering him to his knees, wrapping both arms around him and pulling him tight into his chest. Dean struggles weakly but Sam grips his arms, holds them firm.

"**_NO_**!"

The grating, hoarse scream hurts Sam's ears, shreds his insides, the pain almost physical bringing furious and heartbroken tears to his eyes. He whispers desperately, frantically trying to calm the storm within his arms.

"It's ok, I got you, I've got you. It's over now, it's over."

"Sammy..."

"I'm here. I'm here now, Dean. You're safe."

Sam tightens his arms around his now sobbing brother, holds him as closely to his own body as he can, the gentle rocking motion contradicting the rage in his eyes, the anger he inadvertently shoots at Bobby who doesn't fail to hear the silent accusations.

TBC

_Just in case you're wondering, Razakel has nothing whatsoever to do with Lilith. The eye thing was purely coincidental (unless Kripke has been hacking my account again) and I had no idea she was going to show up with the eye thing going on. I am however starting to wonder if my psychic abilities are returning especially as that's the third time something like that has happened. Kripke, stay out of my account you plagiarist you._

_Re: The Look of Death ™ - Not mine don't own it, don't know who does but I read it in a review for Sin City and I thought that it was the perfect name for it._


	11. Chapter 11

**Really trying to get this done before the new episodes air but I doubt I will. There's probably going to be another two chapters after this and then finis. I really didn't intend it to be this long so thanks for not getting bored and trailing off. Thanks for your comments on the last chapter - as always massively appreciated.**

**Apologies for any errors but I had a headache when I did the final proof read and I just couldn't face reading it all again.**

**Chapter 11**

Sam shifts uncomfortably, his back protesting under the extra strain placed on it. He gazes out of the window watching the darkness fly past, his sleeping brother propped up against his shoulder. Bobby had offered to drive and Sam hadn't minded. He had been reluctant to let go of Dean and although his concern for the older man's current state of mind had made him question the wisdom of him taking control of the Impala, the grip of his brother's hand on his shirt had been the deciding factor.

Neither man had spoken once exhaustion had taken Dean, still enclosed within Sam's arms. Sam had carried his unconscious sibling out of the warehouse, retrieved the keys from Dean's seat pocket and settled the two of them in the back, one hand clutching the keys the other wrapped protectively around his older brother's shoulder. Bobby had appeared at the door held out his hand and Sam had looked up at him, the pain in his eyes reflecting that in the elder's staring back at him and had handed them over without a word.

Pulling his brother closer to him he'd sat in silence as Bobby returned to the warehouse, turned off the engine of the stolen car and retrieved the brothers' belongings from it's trunk. Sam had obviously no intention of returning to the motel, probably not far from where he had acquired the car and it didn't really matter where they headed now just as long as it was far away from here.

Sam has so many questions now. Questions his brain is hollering at him but questions he can't bear to voice for fear of hearing the answers. Bobby's shoulders are tense as if waiting for them to reach his ears. Questions only he can answer, questions he would rather not.

"Why, Bobby?"

It's little more than a whisper, a scratching painful sound in the darkness, but splitting open the silence all the same.

"Why him, or why me?"

Bobby's voice is equally weak. His voice which he hadn't used for his own will in far too long.

Sam shrugs and looks back out of the window not wanting to say anymore for at least a few more minutes anyway.

"Your Daddy and I exorcised it some years ago, when the two of you were kids. First time either of us had seen a white eyed demon before."

Sam's head flicks back, his ears pricking up.

"What?!"

"It was possessing a little girl, not much older than yourselves. Made her kill her own parents. Among other things."

"_Unity_."

A whisper again, soft, barely heard sent out into the night.

"The things it made her do. No reason or purpose, other than to cause misery and insanity and chaos."

"But how..."

"It used her to find you. It had been possessing a young waitress in the diner where you met. Only she's not a waitress anymore. She's dead."

"When?"

"Showed up at my door, when I was on my way to meet the two of you. She was just a kid."

"Bobby...I'm sorry."

The silence hangs between them as Sam tries to process the information, tries to figure out the details and comes to the inevitable conclusion that he has Unity's blood on his hands.

"So, it was all about revenge? For sending it back to Hell?"

"Revenge, recreation, enjoyment..."

"Bobby..."

"Sam, please. Don't."

"I have to know."

"No. No you don't."

"You think Dean's ever gonna talk to me about this? Please, Bobby. You have to tell me."

"Sam."

"I heard him scream, Bobby."

More silence, louder than either of them had witnessed.

"It hurt him."

"Yeah, Bobby I got that."

"Gave him a taste of Hell."

Sam nods, a shiver running down his spinal chord, eyes burning with fluid, bile rising in his throat.

"_I_ hurt him."

"Wasn't you."

Sam's voice cracks, pulls Dean's head a little closer and rests his chin on top as a tear trickles down his cheek and lands in his brother's hair. He inhales deeply before lifting his head again.

"What else?"

"Sam."

"Bobby."

The elder of the two sighs, swallows, clears his throat and swallows again.

"It used his thoughts, his memories, twisted them, turned them against him. His worst fears, the worst moments in his life, the people he loves the most - it took them and twisted them and turned them all into nightmares."

Sam nods.

"He thought I was gonna hurt him. He recognised me, but he thought I was gonna hurt him."

"That thing, Razakel, it's what he does. Turns everything inside out so you don't know what's real anymore, takes your sanity and jumbles it up, poisons everything you hold close."

"But it _was_ real. I did hurt him. And more than once."

* * *

They leave enough distance between themselves and the warehouse, managing to find a particularly cheap and nasty motel in which to spend what's left of the night. Bobby takes care of booking the rooms to avoid any awkward questions as to why one third of their party is not only unconscious but looking a little worse for wear. Once settled Sam begins the task of cleaning his brother up, changing his clothes and tending to the minor wounds.

He deals with the head injury first, using a warm damp cloth to clean away the congealed blood, sweat and dirt from the area. There is a little swelling but nothing which concerns him greatly. The bruising is starting to show around his left eye and cheek and a little on the left side of his jaw. Nothing he isn't used to Sam thinks. It's the wrists that make him cringe the most. Both of them, scratched, raw and bloody where he had obviously fought against the coarse fibres of the ropes and in need of immediate care. Sam cleans them with the cloth. Then cleans them again and is grateful for the fact his brother is still unconscious.

He watches him carefully, his eyes flicking between the task at hand and Dean's face watching out for any clue or indication that he may wake up soon. Dean looks peaceful and Sam wonders if his dreams are as serene as he looks.

Once he has the injured flesh cleaned and wrapped he pulls the blanket up over his sleeping brother and sits on the bed close to him, watching him sleep and thinks how unnaturally still he is. Dean normally fidgets in his sleep, often restless and unsettled. But now he just lays there, unmoving, his expression blank, calm, closed off. Sam wonders what he should expect when the eyes finally open.

A knock at the door startles him a little and then Bobby enters, cautiously, a dark look in his eyes.

"Only me, kiddo."

Sam looks at him and then back at Dean.

"Sam, why don't you get some sleep?"

"No."

"Sam..."

"Sleep is what I was doing when I should have been trying to find my brother."

He glares fiercely at the older man, instantly regretting the harshness in his voice.

Bobby sits down on the opposite bed.

"Sam, you saved him. If it wasn't for you..."

"I wasn't quick enough. I was too late."

"No. You weren't. It was about to get a whole lot worse for him."

"I should have stopped it sooner."

"Sam..."

Sam shakes his head ending the current line of conversation; it's pointless and irrelevant anyway.

"Is he gonna be ok? I mean what it did to him, is he ever gonna get over it?"

Bobby sighs, that thing that Bobby does when he's weary and with very little to offer.

"Thing is, Sam, that demon, sending people nuts - it's what he does. Likes to torture them slowly, destroy their psyche. But it can take a while. And Dean, well he had it pretty bad, but I reckon you got there in time."

"You reckon?"

Bobby nods.

"He might not remember it all, it'll be vague, difficult to articulate so don't expect him to tell you everything. But you'll need to give him some time. He might shut you out for a while. That thing it tricked him at least twice. Made him think it was all over, that he was safe, just to start on him again. So don't be too surprised if he wakes up and tries to exorcise you."

Sam allows himself a slight chuckle.

"You know I keep telling him to learn to exorcise without a book. He tried I think, but I guess his mind doesn't work that way. Remembers how to fix a car, load a weapon, draw a devil's trap but when it comes to Latin, it's like his brain just switches off."

"Yeah, I guess that's why the two of you make such a great team."

Sam turns to the older man and smiles, just a little.

"You ok, Bobby? I mean, as ok as you can be I guess."

Bobby says nothing just looks away his jaw tightening.

"I shouldn't need to tell you this, but it wasn't your fault. There was nothing you could have done."

Bobby fixes his eyes on the carpet still maintaining his silence.

Sam laughs bitterly.

"Man I should know better than anyone that that doesn't help one bit."

Bobby finally looks up.

"It doesn't, does it?"

Sam's eyebrows twitch and he holds Bobby's gaze until the older man's flit away uncomfortably. The silence stretches on deliberately until the elder of the two clears his throat although it does little to improve his voice.

"Does it get any easier?"

Sam shakes his head.

"Not really."

* * *

Bobby comes and goes as what's left of the night progresses the daylight eventually returning but without the warmth of the sun. Outside it's grey. Clouds hide the sky in a blanket of dirty white, withholding any heat or color. Sam doesn't move. Sam stays seated on a battered, wooden chair at his brother's bedside, watching him sleep. Bobby brings coffee. Sometimes food. Sometimes he stays, sits on the far side of the room. Far away from Dean. He rarely goes near Sam. Sometimes he speaks; sometimes he says nothing, merely exchanges a look with the youngest of the three.

He's sat on the floor rubbing at his eyes when Sam tells him to go back to his room and get some sleep. Sam knows how being possessed can drain you. Knows how exhausting it can be, particularly when your hands have been used to torture someone you love, someone who you would die for, someone for whom you would rather tear off an arm than hurt.

Bobby doesn't argue. Tells Sam he'll check in on him later. Bobby doubts that he will sleep but he doesn't believe his presence is welcome either. So he leaves.

Sam looks at his brother and wishes he would open his eyes. Wishes he would move, wishes he would at least fidget a little. He reaches out to touch him but then pulls back at the last second.

"You really look like shit, man. I wish you would wake up so I could make fun of you."

He smiles a little to himself and scrapes a hand through his hair hating the quietness of the room, yearning for some conversation, some banter, something familiar and normal.

"Hey, Dean you remember when we were kids and I used to drive you nuts with all those questions? I hated it that you wouldn't tell me anything. I figured if I asked you enough times, bugged you enough you would give in but..."

He sighs lightly, looks down at his hands then back at his brother.

"It really used to piss me off you know. I just wanted to be let in on the big secret, so I could part of the team, so I could be more like you. It wasn't until I got older that I actually got it. Why you kept it from me. At the time I just thought you were being an ass, but...I mean I get it now, I understand..."

He exhales again, the breath catching slightly and the sting in his eyes matching the sorrow in his voice.

"You were just trying to protect me. Let me be a kid for a while. Protect me like you always did - keep the monsters away from me and keep me oblivious to all the crap that you had to deal with. You sacrificed your own childhood so that I could have one. And you always protected me, man. Long before _and_ after you should have had to."

He pauses giving his voice a chance to return to normal and tries to blink away the moisture, the water swimming in his eyes.

"I just wish I could have done the same for you. You're _my_ brother too and I should have stopped this. Stopped all of it. I should have been able to. _You_ would have. You would have saved me. Somehow you would have found a way. Not me though huh? I had a chance, one chance to start to make it up to you, one chance and...And I screwed it up. I couldn't save you from that. Just like I couldn't save you from making that deal."

He sniffs refusing to let the tears fall, fighting against the burn in his gut and his throat.

"You should know somethin' though. That's it for me now. I'm not screwing around anymore. This time, I'm gonna save you. I have to. Because if I can't...if I can't save you, then what the hell is the _point_ of me huh?"

Sam's voice finally breaks and he sighs heavily, wiping at his eyes. He leans forward resting his arms and head on the bed next to his brother and wonders if sleep will make it all go away.

It's midday when Bobby returns. He's brought lunch but Sam isn't hungry. Bobby must have known that Sam wouldn't be hungry but he brought it anyway. Bobby pulls a chair up opposite Sam, the closest they've been since he threw him to the floor shortly before exorcising the demon inside of him.

Sam ignores the movement, keeps his eyes fixed on Dean, his shoulders tense.

"Sam."

He hands him a bag containing what he assumes is a sandwich or something but he doesn't have the energy or inclination to respond.

"Sam you need to eat something."

"I'm not hungry."

"Goin' on a hunger strike aint gonna help Dean one bit."

"I said I'm not hungry."

Bobby notices the younger man's jaw flex and tense and sets his own.

"Sam, if I have to, I'll make it an order."

Sam's head whips around to fix an angry stare on the older man, who admirably manages to refrain from flinching.

"Last time I checked Bobby, the only guy who got to give me orders was my father - and you may have forgotten - but you're _not him_."

Bobby sighs shaking his head refusing to let the outburst bother him.

"No, I'm not. But that don't mean I can't give you a smack round your head if I think you need it."

Sam's glare falters and almost hidden behind the eyes Bobby detects a hint of the young boy who used to call him Uncle, when he was still small enough to look up to him. Sam's eyes flicker and he looks away guiltily but says nothing. His eyelids flutter and Bobby notices him swallow thickly and can tell that Sam just doesn't have it in him to apologise. He puts a hand on the young man's shoulder and softens his voice a notch.

"Just try and eat something, kid. For me ok?"

Sam nods once, glancing briefly at his friend and managing to whisper a weak response.

"Yes sir."

* * *

Bobby disappears again and Sam alternates between pacing and sitting. Sometimes he sits on the floor propped up against the wall watching his brother from a short distance, hoping that when he gets up again Dean will open his eyes and tell him he needs a shower. Sometimes he sits on the edge of the bed talking quietly about irrelevant and insignificant events like the weather or how he really needs new underwear and how he wishes Dean would quit spending their clothing budget on beer and loose women. He occasionally nibbles at the sandwich Bobby left him, but only because Bobby had asked him to, rather than any real hunger. It tastes of nothing anyway and sticks in his throat.

After several rotations he eventually returns to the chair leaning back, his muscles protesting and then slouching forward again trying to find a position that doesn't cause his bones to ache. Changing his mind he slides off the chair and on to the floor using the bed to support his throbbing back. He leans his head against the mattress and tells himself he's just resting and that he'll get up in a minute or two when his muscles are not so sore. His eyes though are losing their battle against gravity and it isn't long before he gives in to it and allows the lids to slide shut. Just for a little while.

Sam dreams again. He dreams of being alone, of life with an absence of Dean, where Dean had never existed. It's a surreal and strange world that feels wrong and empty, like an alternate reality that he doesn't belong in. Even without the existence of his brother, Sam knows instinctively that a part of him is missing, a weakness in his soul like an atrophied limb, and a nagging ache that just won't go away. The Dean-less dream folds into another and another and some of them make sense, but some of them are just plain odd and some of them just make him want to wake up.

Then there's Dean again, his brother, his sibling born four years before him, the dysfunctional one, the messed up one, the one with all the issues because he's the oldest and it's his job to shoulder the weight of the world. He's losing him though because Dean is sinking into the ground, deeper and deeper and further and further away from him, sinking into the earth as if it were quick sand a bit like that guy in that British film about trains or whatever and Sam can hear voices and feel fire and there's these clawed hands grabbing at Dean drawing him downwards and it reminds him of a scene from Ghost. He hears laughter and screams and the noises are pulling Dean further and further away from him and he can't stop it.

He jerks forward, waking to find his breathing heavy and his heart pounding so fast it makes him feel sick. Pushing the hair out of his eyes he looks for Dean, confused and disorientated then remembers where he is, pushes himself up and flops on to the bed next to Dean still sleeping oblivious to the nightmare that still lingers in Sam's head. Sam knows it was a dream, knows it wasn't real but a part of him isn't so sure and what if it was actually a vision telling him to wake his brother before he was lost forever and he can't fight the urge to see his brother's green eyes staring back at him, letting him know that he's still here.

"Dean? Dean? Wake up."

He grabs Dean's upper arms and shakes him, gently first then harder, the lack of response fuelling his fear and panic.

"Dean, come on, wake up. I said _wake up_!"

He doesn't realise tears are filling up in his eyes and he doesn't notice the rise in his voice or the sound of desperation and he doesn't realise he's shaking his brother so hard.

"Dean, wake up! Please."

The shaking becomes almost violent but still has no effect and there is nothing to draw Sam back now, no connection with reality, or sanity, or rationality and the panic and terror just increases with every second and he's calling his brother's name and yelling at him, screaming at him to open his eyes, to come back to him right now and he continues to be oblivious to the lack of reason for his actions, becomes more and more convinced that the dream was real, doesn't hear the voice of calm in his head trying to talk him down, can't hear the sounds of his own sobs, the sound of the door opening and a rough voice calling his name. He still doesn't hear when the voice increases in volume or the hands grip his arms forcefully and he only notices when they succeed in pulling him away from his family and into their own crushing, suffocating prison.

"Sam, take it easy."

He hears but his brain barely registers it, can't make sense of it, can't translate it from sound into reason, because he just needs to break free from whatever it is that is holding him, whatever it is that is preventing him from saving his brother, so he fights with all he has, claws at the things holding him, feels his nails digging into what feels like skin but he doesn't care because his only function is to get to his brother and he screams his name over and over and can't understand why no one can hear him.

"Sam, come on son, settle down."

The words find his ears again and for a second he considers listening to them because he's getting tired and his throat hurts and the voice keeps talking in his ear and he thinks maybe he knows the voice but it's still irrelevant and he really wants to get his arms free but the voice keeps on and as his brain decides to do it's job and translate the words he realises he recognises them, and he thinks he hears his own name and an order to stop or something like that and he understands that someone is trying to reach him and he wants to come back but he's afraid to and then he hears a word which seems to scream at him and his brain just stops.

"**_Sammy!_**"

That word, that one word spoken by a voice who hasn't used it since he was a child cuts him off short and then shatters him, breaks him completely and he suddenly stops fighting, stops shouting, stops struggling and his arms go limp within Bobby's and he allows himself to be held because he's shaking so hard and fighting for breath because his chest hurts and the arms go tighter around him, pressing his head into something warm and solid, feels the rough, calloused fingers in his hair and then he lets go of the nightmare, of the lies and the fear and finds himself reaching for something else to hold on to.

When he finds it he clings to it desperately and cries harder than he has done in years.

* * *

When Sam's tears have dried and his breathing returned to somewhere near normal, surprisingly it's Bobby who pulls away first, his eyes suddenly drawn away from Sam and on to the miserable looking figure now sat up back pressed against the head board staring straight ahead.

"Sam."

The rough whisper sends a chill through the younger man as he lifts his head, his eyes tracing the path that Bobby's had taken, the path leading to his brother, sitting upright with his knees pulled up to his chest, bandaged wrists wrapped around them, his face a dark canvas of pain and fear, the look of peace and serenity that once graced it now gone. Bobby takes a step back, away from Sam and out of Dean's line of sight allowing Sam to shift a little closer.

Sam sniffs and quickly scrubs at his face before allowing his eyes to fall on to his brother.

"Hey."

He speaks quietly, softly, his posture rigid and frozen with uncertainty, mirroring that of his brother's, though Dean's focus is somewhere else, somewhere past Sam's shoulder a few feet behind. He reaches out a hand as if to touch him, to connect him to his version of normality but reconsiders, his hand pulling back, too afraid of how Dean will react, not willing to risk making contact just yet.

"Dean?"

"Why is he still here?"

"What?"

Dean's eyes don't shift from the spot on to which they're anchored, as if whatever it is he's latched on to, whatever truth that he's seeing is the only thing keeping him on this side of sanity, the only thing keeping him from crumbling.

"I can see him, he's _here_."

Sam frowns, confused and disturbed, regretting now his desire for his brother to open his eyes because he barely recognises the man inches away from his own body.

"Dean, I don't..."

"Make him leave, please."

Sam braves a glance over his shoulder towards Bobby whose face betrays the same confusion and fear as that on his own. Except that he's apparently frozen, unsure of his next move, to stay put or leave as fast as possible. Leaving of course would mean crossing the path of the young man whose vision he wishes to avoid because he knows that Dean will only have to lay eyes on him for a nanosecond for everything to come crashing down. The hours they had spent together had poisoned Dean's memories of him; the hours his body had spent torturing him, making him suffer, scrambling his mind, making him believe lies were truths and truths were lies.

The seconds tick by slowly as the two men with sanity on their side weigh up their options, consider the consequences and in the end Sam throws it all to hell and goes with his instinct, because he knows from experience that his instinct - when it comes to his brother - is generally the only thing he can rely on. His hand moves without him telling it to, reaches forward and finds it's way to Dean's forearm, resting gently on the goose pimpled skin, lightly without pressure or presumption.

"Dean, it's just Bobby. The demon's gone now. It can't hurt you."

Dean shakes his head, jaw tensing and tears spilling causing Sam to doubt he's even been heard.

"He's still here."

Bobby takes a deep breath as if about to plunge under water and crosses the room so fast, Sam hardly notices. Dean notices. He inhales hard, the sound sharp and strangled, presses his face into his knees, the arms wrapping a little tighter around his legs, making Sam think of a small, frightened child trying to hide away from the dark and the monsters that only he could see.

He looks across the room for Bobby, eyes pleading for an answer; Bobby remains stoic, resolute, now poised by the door, fist clenching the handle. He nods once at Sam before leaving the room, leaving Sam to tend to his brother alone, his brother who is now shaking, trembling, his breath coming out in gasps and his fingers tense, now scratching at the bandages on his wrists. Sam takes them in his own to prevent any further damage; Dean clenches his fists within Sam's, the fingers now digging into Sam's flesh although he barely feels it.

"Dean, can you look at me?"

Dean lifts his head off his knees but keeps it lowered shaking it furiously in response to Sam's request.

"Come on, Dean. Look at me."

Sam lets go of Dean's hands and touches the side of his head in encouragement and to his credit the elder of the two lifts it a few more inches all the while keeping his eyes downcast.

"Has he gone away?"

"Yeah. He's gone."

Sam keeps his voice low, soft like his brother's although Dean's is considerably weaker but Sam reckons that hours spent screaming might have something to do with that. He waits patiently for a response, is filled with relief when Dean finally nods, accepting Sam's word for what it is and wipes at both eyes, his hands shaking like the breath he releases.

Sam fights the urge to touch his brother, smother's the need to hold him because he seems so scared, so fragile as if he would crack if Sam were to step too close but at the same time he has no idea what it is he should do or what exactly it is he should say. What could you do when you had spent the last year trying to convince your only remaining family of his worth and his value and just how much he meant to you, only to have all that effort wiped out in one day? Any progress he had made with Dean he knows has been obliterated now and he would like to ask someone, anyone what the hell they had done, what Dean had done to deserve being dealt such a huge amount of horse shit in just one life time.

They sit in silence for what feels like an hour but is probably only minutes and in the end it's Dean who makes the first move finally raising his eyes to meet with his brother's, searching them, trying to find something he can recognise, something he can believe and when he speaks the pleading and hope conveyed in the single question nearly destroys what's left of Sam's resolve.

"Is this real?"

Sam nods, his eyes suddenly filling with tears, barely able to speak without his voice cracking.

"Yeah, it's real."

"You're not gonna leave?"

The words cause Sam to flinch as if he has suffered a blow; pierce his chest like a double edged knife. He feels a tear slip free, making it's way painfully slowly down his cheek and gives up trying to blink away the rest.

"_No_. I'm not gonna leave."

Dean nods once, matter of fact, seemingly satisfied and lowers his knees, removing the barrier between them, tucking his feet underneath himself so he's sitting cross legged, in front of Sam. He studies his hands in his lap intently, closes his eyes, screws them shut tightly and then opens them again before looking back up at Sam. He seems surprised to see he's still there and then the surprise turns to relief as his face crumples and his head ducks. Sam doesn't wait for the sobs to begin and Dean's enclosed in his arms a second before the first rips free from his chest.

Dean doesn't move. His hands remain in his lap and his shoulders remain tense and his cries are frighteningly quiet as if he can't quite let go and Sam bites so hard on his lip, he tastes blood as he tries his best not to cry with him. Sam tries not to be hurt that he can't feel his brother's hands clinging to him, tries not to mind that Dean isn't ready to reach for him just yet, tries to understand that he is too afraid to hold on to him in case he goes away. But Sam holds on to him all the same.

* * *

Dean doesn't cry himself to sleep this time but when it's over Sam lays him down anyway. Sam pulls the cover over him, squeezes his arm gently and avoids looking into the haunted spheres that are his brother's eyes.

"I know that you're some place else right now and it's ok."

If Dean hears he doesn't let on, the eyes now fixed on the door. Sam follows them and sighs wishing he would trust him enough to close them.

"I get that it's too hard for you and... I know you're gonna need some time, but...just... just take as much as you need ok?"

He takes a breath knowing he's about a minute away from breaking down again, but deciding that he'll be damned if he does that right now.

"And when you're ready to come back to me, I'll be right here ok? I'm not going anywhere. I mean where would I go right? Nearly everyone we know is dead and who else would have me huh?"

He chuckles a little and then winces swallowing back the sob intent on forcing it's way out of his throat before squeezing his brother's arm again and resists the urge to stay seated next to Dean, recognising his brother's need for some space.

Dean lies on his side and stares at the door, eyes unblinking, unmoving.

* * *

The next few hours are a new kind of torture for Sam. Dean shifts between apparent catatonia and sleep. When he wakes his eyes search for Sam and they always contain the same terror and confusion and a pleading for everything to be ok. The nightmares are constant and don't ever let up and when he comes out of them it takes too long for the breathing to return to normal. During the time he's awake Dean just stares. Stares at the door mainly, sometimes at the floor, sometimes at the ceiling but never at Sam. He doesn't move and he doesn't speak as if he's terrified of being seen, of being heard by whatever monsters are chasing him.

The only time he speaks is when he's in sleep. He calls for Sam, for their Mom and for their Dad although sometimes it doesn't sound quite like he's calling for them but more like he's pleading with them, pleading for something, pleading for them to stop, although what, Sam doesn't know, doesn't want to know. On two occasions he wakes up screaming and it takes Sam five long minutes to calm him down and to convince him that he's safe. Another time Sam comes out of the bathroom to find Dean clawing at his wrists trying desperately to remove the bandages as if they're burning his skin. He screams at Sam to get them off and Sam tries to get him to stop, takes a weak punch to the jaw before he can successfully restrain him.

When he does finally calm they eyeball each other for seconds or maybe minutes, Dean flat on his back arms pinned at his sides until Sam eventually loosens his grip allowing his brother to pull free and turn on his side, away from Sam, away from everything. Sam's frustrated by the action, furious at the fresh set of tears in Dean's eyes and can't help himself as he none too gently pulls Dean back with two firm hands on his shoulders.

"Don't do that alright. You don't get to turn away from me, ok?"

The obvious flinch that crosses Dean's face replaces the anger with sorrow, with regret and with shame and Sam instantly softens his voice, hating himself for causing his brother yet more fear.

"You're stuck with me, now Dean. You got that?"

Dean stares at Sam and Sam stares back until Dean begins to cry, turning on to his side, but not away from Sam this time. He covers his head with his arm and buries his face into the pillow and Sam allows him that at least but he doesn't move, refusing to leave his side this time and places a hand on his brother's shoulder, keeping it there while the muffled sobs continue.

A long time passes until Sam hears his brother's voice - a sign that maybe he's on his way back - Sam thinks, hopes.

"Sam."

"Ssh. I'm right here."

"Sammy..."

"I'm here, Dean. I'm here."

Sam stays where he is until Dean falls asleep again.

* * *

Bobby returns during one of the sleep periods and tries his hardest to get Sam to rest or to take a walk or to go eat. Sam of course refuses.

"So, how's he doing?"

"I dunno, better I guess."

Sam stands to stretch his legs not taking his eyes off his sleeping sibling.

"Yeah?"

Bobby looks hopefully at the younger man, who simply shrugs.

"No. Not really."

Sam sits on the floor leaning against the wall near the door.

"It's like...I dunno, like he can't believe that it's over I guess."

Bobby nods knowingly.

"His head's still scrambled. I warned you it could take some time, but he'll get there."

"You really believe that, or you just saying it to make me feel better?"

Bobby glances at Sam, offering a bitter one sided smirk.

"Maybe I'm just saying it to make_ me_ feel better."

Sam looks away and Bobby notices the agony flash across his features.

"Sam. He'll be ok. I mean it's Dean, right?"

Sam looks back at him.

"Yeah."

His eyes fall to the floor.

"I gotta take a leak."

He pushes himself up and trudges off to the bathroom leaving his brother alone with Bobby. The old hunter watches the rapid movement underneath the eyelids, notices the gradual increase in breathing and moves a little close, sitting on the bed carefully, his brow furrowed with concern.

"Dean?"

He whispers softly, tentatively placing a hand on his shoulder the action bringing an immediate response almost making his heart jump out of his chest.

Dean jerks upright; his terrified gaze meeting Bobby's instantaneously and Bobby waits for the attack he believes is inevitable.

Dean doesn't scream or make a sound. Dean doesn't attack. Dean doesn't run, stays where he is as if he believes he has no where to run. Dean can only go backwards, back towards the wall, only inches until his spine meets the head board his hands shooting behind him to grip the edge of the mattress. His eyes betray a thousand different fears and Bobby can see the jaw tensing, his mouth twitching and the chin almost trembles and Bobby can't move, he can only watch, paralyzed with fear, fear for what his presence is doing to his old friend's eldest, the young man who he adores like a son.

When Sam finally exits the bathroom, the scene before him sends him into a panic and he rushes to Dean's side immediately only to be stopped by Bobby's hand on his arm.

"Sam, easy."

"Bobby?"

"I don't think he knows where he is."

Bobby denies his instinct to flee and shuffles a little closer, slowly, hesitantly as if approaching a wild and very dangerous animal. Dean tries to back away but the wall behind him won't allow it, his feet kicking pointlessly against the mattress beneath.

"Easy son, it's just me."

On hearing Bobby's words Dean screws his eyes shut, releases a terrified cry, his breath becoming frantic without warning, heavy as if he's preparing for the onset of something horrible, as if anticipating the most excruciating pain and Sam suddenly doesn't know what to do.

Bobby shuffles closer determined to break this cycle, determined to get past this before it's too late.

"Dean, it's me. It's Bobby. You're safe. No one's gonna hurt you kid."

Dean's breathing slows a little, his shoulders begin to shake and he opens his eyes allowing the tears to escape.

"Please."

"Dean, give me your hands."

Dean's hands are still gripping the mattress, trapped between the wall and his back and it's as if he believes he's still tied to that post.

"I can't."

The response is furious, defiant, betrayed by the tears falling and Bobby repeats the order more forcefully, truly believing, hoping he can reach him.

"Dean. Give me your hands."

Dean shakes his head, his response much weaker than before.

"I can't."

"Yes you can, son. You're not in that room anymore, you're safe."

Dean begins to move slightly and just as Bobby thinks he's got there, breached the wall, Dean suddenly lunges forward and he's on top of Bobby in a second, knocking him to the floor. He pulls back a fist - a fist caught by his brother whose fatigue doesn't seem to have affected his reactions, and he's pulled off the older man almost immediately, hauled backwards on to his knees his arms firmly restrained. Bobby waits a second or two before sitting up, the brief outburst leaving him shaken, the full reality of Dean's mental state slamming into him as he stares back into the furious and terrified eyes, his own fear and heartache making him want to run as far as he can but he doesn't. He just stares back waiting for the young man to calm, waiting for some recognition and it takes a while, takes a while for him to cease the struggling within his brother's grip but eventually Bobby sees the storm calm and a flicker of the man he knows return.

"Bobby?"

It's a horrible scraping sound; sounds as if it should have hurt to make it but it fills him with a little hope, a tiny spark only to be extinguished as quickly as it came.

"You left. Because I was a stupid bastard."

Bobby frowns at the odd comment not understanding the meaning but his gut twisting all the same. His gut which understands even if his brain doesn't yet.

"I let you down, so you left."

Bobby's thought process catches up and he remembers although it seems so long ago, now. The day he had got in his car and drove away from the young man, leaving him to believe he had been abandoned again. He remembers how he had been on his way to fix the mess he had helped create when that bastard scum had violated his body. Of course Dean hadn't known that and Dean apparently still doesn't. He tries to speak, tries to set things right but knowing that it will take more than words to come any where near close.

"Dean...I..."

"And now you're gonna leave me again."

Sam can feel the muscles under his hands tense, sensing a second round. He tightens his grip and waits for the fury to re-surface, prepares himself for the storm about to erupt. He doesn't have to wait long.

"Well, what are you waiting for? **GO**!"

The struggles begin again, furious and desperate and Sam does the only thing he can and just holds on.

"I said GO! Get out of here! **GO!** **GO! GO!**"

Dean's screaming at Bobby hysterically now, the older man just frozen in his position unable to obey the order and Sam finds it harder and harder to hold on, fatigue and muscle cramp defeating his will, feels his heart breaking and an overwhelming desire to let go, to give up and suddenly he can't hold on anymore and Dean pushes him off and he doesn't fight it, just falls backwards collapsing against the side of the bed, exhausted and feeling as if he's close to drowning.

Dean remains on his knees, breathing heavily staring furiously at Bobby. Bobby watches, observes the display of emotions wash across the young man's face, witnesses the anger, the betrayal, the despair and the agony of being failed by someone who should never have failed him. Then if that isn't enough Bobby sees something else as the eyes drop to the floor and recognises it as shame, guilt or both because he's seen that look so many times and he will never ever get used to it. He almost wishes the anger would return because anything is better than seeing this, the defeat, the self hatred that Dean has seemed to be smothered with lately and he feels his chest tighten as Dean pushes himself weakly to his feet, turns away and stumbles to the bathroom, locking the door behind him, leaving Bobby opened mouthed and completely shattered.

Sam flashes a look at him, a look that suggests that they do something - something like break the door down, right now but Bobby just holds up a hand sighing wearily.

"Leave him be kid. Give him some time."

* * *

"Bobby you can't. Didn't you hear him?"

"Sam you think this is easy for me? But I'm not helping being here. I'm only making it worse."

Bobby turns and walks away from Sam, the cold air sending a chill through him as he closes the distance between himself and the car he'd managed to acquire. Bobby feels tired and old. Bobby is unsure of how much more he can take and for a second doubts his decision to walk away, questions his motives before affirming in his own mind head what he knows he has to do, despite the pleas of the young man on his heel, a dog refusing to give up on it's owner, refusing to let them go.

"Bobby, _wait! _We need you. Don't leave us, not like this."

Bobby spins round facing the young man, his eyes glassy and almost cracks under the weight of the pain in Sam's eyes. The young man who he cared for like his own, who he would die to protect and whose pleas he had never been able to resist.

"I - I don't know what to do, Bobby. Please."

Bobby sighs and shakes his head feeling like an asshole, hating himself for the tears in his eyes, for his failures, for his inability to help.

"Sam. You know I would never leave you but... you saw what happened back there. The kid's terrified of me. That aint gonna just go away and until Dean can get some sort of control over it, it's better if I go."

"Yeah? Better for who?"

"For Dean, dammit. How the hell's he supposed to recover when every time he wakes from another nightmare he has to look at the person who hurt him?"

He can practically feel Sam's anger rising along with his voice and it hurts because he knows that Sam should be angry; angry with him because he caused all this. He messed everything up when he should have been looking out for them, should have been protecting them, not screwing them up even more.

"You know what? I think that's bullshit, you just can't stand to look at him cos it makes _you_ feel like shit."

"I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that."

"Really? Well then maybe I should say it again."

Bobby's trying his best to stay calm, trying not to lose his temper even though the young man's word are like acid in his veins and he knows he deserves it but he can't stop himself from shouting all the same.

"Sam, that's **_enough,_** alright?"

"Enough? You had enough, Bobby? Enough of us? Enough of this mess? Hey that's fine, you just go on back to your life and do whatever it is you do and think yourself lucky you don't have to deal with us anymore."

"Sam, you're overreacting a little here..."

"No! I'm being realistic. _You're_ being a coward!"

"Alright, now **_knock it off_**!"

"**_Why should I_**? He needs you and you're just gonna bail? **_You're worse than Dad_**!"

Sam instantly flinches at his own words, at his own cruelty, the accusations, the anger and at the obvious flicker in the older man's eyes; looks away blinking rapidly, feeling ashamed and miserable.

"Sam."

He turns his head back but can't look right at the old hunter, although unable to hide the sheer sorrow in his eyes and his voice. He exhales and it sounds painful to Bobby, dissolving the anger within him instantly as the scarily furious young man in front of him suddenly switches back to the lost little boy he only ever wants to take care of.

"I'm sorry, I...I dunno why I...I'm sorry."

Bobby places a firm hand on the younger's trembling shoulder, his voice so gentle Sam nearly loses it.

"I'm not leaving you ok? I'll check in on y' in a few days, I promise. Dean needs _you_ right now not me, but when he decides he does I will _be here_."

Sam looks up a little still unable to meet the old man's eyes.

"_I_ need you."

"The hell you do. I'm just... I'm not helping. And I don't wanna make things any worse than I already have."

Sam finally looks him in the eye then and Bobby very nearly loses his nerve.

"It wasn't your fault."

"Maybe. But it's gonna take a while for Dean to believe that. Gonna take a while for me to believe it."

The two men hug fiercely, Sam tries not to let the tears fall. Bobby is past caring. Sam holds on for longer than he knows is dignified and only pulls away when he feels the urge to cry become unbearable. He ducks his head trying to regain composure as Bobby smacks him lightly on the shoulder and he can't bring himself to watch as he makes his way to his car and drives away.

* * *

When Sam re-enters the room he decides enough is enough and makes the decision to join Dean in the bathroom whether his presence is wanted or not. He doesn't need to pick the lock as it's one of those crappy ones where you only have to jiggle the handle for it to give. He opens the door carefully, afraid of what he'll see and nothing could have prepared him for the pitiful sight that awaits him. Dean's sitting on the floor, back against the bath tub looking too young and too alone in his old t-shirt and sweat pants, bare footed, hair ruffled, skin pale and bruised, the shadows under his eyes setting off the redness around the rims. The hands hang limply, his arms resting on his knees, his head dropped not so low that Sam can't see the desolation, the loneliness and the despair.

Sam only has to take a step to close the distance between them and Dean's head shoots up just as he stoops, crouching so they're eye to eye, so he can see every bit of pain and fear that Dean is unable to hide from him.

"Hey."

He sits on the cool floor, crossing his legs, a hand moving to rest on his brother's, the tears in Dean's eyes inviting his own to resurface. Dean stares at him as if waiting for something, a reaction, a word, a blow maybe but then he speaks and he can't remember a time when Dean's voice sounded quite like that.

"Please don't leave."

He gapes, mouth slack, feels like he's just been hit in the stomach with a baseball bat.

"Dean..."

"Please. I don't wanna be alone."

Sam releases a painful breath, his vocal chords refusing to respond, the speech section of his brain shutting down in protest, unable to produce anything of any worth or value. A sound comes out instead, not a word just a sound, wrong and strangled and horrid and it's the only noise he can make so instead he moves to Dean's side putting an arm around his shoulder and gently pulls his head to rest against him.

A moment passes and then Sam finally finds his voice, still broken and still weak but just about strong enough for Dean to hear.

"I'm not gonna leave ok? And you're not alone."

Sam rests his chin on Dean's head and Dean starts to cry again although the only evidence of it is the slight shaking of his shoulders and the barely audible gasping sounds which only Sam can hear.

* * *

TBC

Sorry if that was a bit heavy. I think I out-did myself on the chick flick scale. You should know that I did try to tone it down a bit but well - you did ask for some comforting...


	12. Chapter 12

**Eeeesh, sorry about the long wait, I swear this story gets harder to write with every chapter. I did cut this one short, partly to get it out there sooner but mainly because it worked better that way. Hope you enjoy.**

**Chapter 12**

He feels like he's been dreaming for weeks. Not living, just dreaming, an endless cycle of images and sensations and words and conversations none of which he can recall or grasp on to. They continue like that on a loop, over and over and never ending. It's like floating through memories that you aren't even sure are your own because they feel real but you're not sure if they really happened or they're just part of your dreams. His body doesn't feel like his own, feels like it's floating like a cloud, but a cloud dense and heavy like a rock and he's so heavy but light and flossy at the same time, like his insides are melting or disintegrating into wool. Wool that's wet and heavy and dragging him into the earth.

He turns over for the hundredth time in ten minutes and tries to stop the dream, the dream that doesn't make any sense or have any sort of structure to it - so much so that if he were asked to describe it he wouldn't be able to because his mind has no words or basis for it. He makes another attempt to stop it, to bring it to an abrupt end, shake his mind free and find his way back to reality, tries to latch on to what used to feel normal and familiar but the images keep replaying in his head although he can't make sense of them, can't even articulate them in his own mind.

His limbs ache and his head pounds like he's got a bad case of the flu and for a few seconds he wonders if that's the problem, that everything that's buzzing around is head is simply a reaction to a fever and that's why he feels so strange. He starts to doubt some of the memories, the darker ones, the ones that his mind won't allow him to dwell on for longer than a moment, wonders if they ever really happened and then wonders - if they're not real- why they fill him with so much fear.

A sharp pain in his elbow jolts him out of the haze and into another reality. He rubs away the throb which he recognises as a result of a collision with something hard, possibly the night stand and is glad of the disruption to the sick film show playing through his head. Frustrated and tired he sits up and looks around him, the semi-darkness not coming as a shock, as some artificial light from out side provides a little information for him. The walls seem vaguely familiar. A chair, curtains, another bed and someone in it.

Sam.

His little brother.

He sits up and slides his legs out of the bed standing to walk around the second bed. He watches Sam breathe, the rise and fall of his chest, rhythmic, consistent, predictable. Sam breathes in and his lungs fill and then he breathes out and his chest falls and then again and again. He could stand here all night and it wouldn't change. Some things in life are certain. Fixed. A truth which cannot be denied. The sun will rise and then it will set. Wind blows and trees move. Rain falls and plants grow. Babies will be born and grow up, grow old and then die. Some won't. Some will die in the womb and some will die before their time because sometimes bad things just happen. Some things you can predict, expect, prepare for, rely on. You turn on the news and you can expect to hear of death, of loss, of injury, of war, of destruction, of poverty and now and again some lame story about how a man's daughter's pet hamster saved the entire family from a fate worse than death, something trite and banal to fill in the gaps when there's nothing else to report.

Some things you can count on.

And some things you can't.

He doesn't realise he's left the motel room until he feels the cold gravel under his bare feet and the chill of the wind causing the hairs on his arms to rise. He ignores the sting of sharp stone under foot as he slowly increases the distance between himself and his sleeping brother, ignores the bite of the wind and the danger of the darkness in front of him and doesn't stop to think where it is he's going until he sees her.

His eyes fall on her and he stops, the soreness in his feet registering and a shiver runs through him as his brain identifies the cold. His world stops as he notices her presence and suddenly everything seems to make sense. The dark, the cold, the yellow glow of the street light illuminating her familiar shape and curves, the angles, the lines, the light reflecting off her surface the way light should, the gleam, the solid reliable form - all of it makes perfect sense. Logical, predictable and familiar and he's by her side in an instant his fingers running across her frame, down the glass, sparks shooting up through his finger tips, through his veins and into his soul awakening his mind and his memories, memories he knows, without question are real.

He closes his eyes, concentrating on the sensation in his hands as they move slowly over her surface and finally come to rest somewhere near his hip and he encloses them around her, tightens his grip and feels her give, the click and the familiar creak he could have predicted, comforting, reassuring as she opens herself to him. She doesn't stop him from entering her, welcomes him in, doesn't turn him away, doesn't pause to consider whether he deserves her presence and accepts him without hesitation, without condition and he falls heavily into her embrace, the leather soft, warm, soothing, familiar, supporting his weight firmly, offering him a place to just exist.

He wishes he could take her somewhere, far from here, just the two of them, drive forever until they reach the end of the world and then just keep going over into oblivion, falling, flying, until the end of time and everything else would just cease to be. He would be alone with her forever because that is how it should be because it had always been her. His one constant. The one thing that had never changed despite everything and he can't remember a time when she hadn't been there for him.

Ever since the beginning she had been a constant presence. She had supported him, taken care of him and his family, whisked them away from danger, given them a home when there was no where for them. The places they had visited, the crap holes they had stayed in and the horrors they had seen had all been left behind when every morning without fail, they would greet her in the place they had left her, where she had remained waiting patiently for them and taken them to their next destination without complaint or faltering.

When she'd become his, she'd accepted him like it was meant to be. She'd never failed to look after him, never failed to answer his calls when she had needed fixing, responded to his hands, never failed him, never left him. Even when she had been almost destroyed along with the life that he had known, she had forgiven him his betrayal, allowed him to vent his anger and grief and agony on her, taken it, accepted it without judgement. She had patiently allowed him his outburst and then waited until he was ready to start over, allowed him to restore her to her former state, hadn't held a grudge, accepted his care without bitterness and she had repaid his refusal to give up on her with her own; undying, unyielding and forever constant. Always there. Always ready.

He leans his head against the cool glass, feels the weight in his limbs sink away into her as his eyes fill with tears. He breathes in her scent, leather mixed with that of himself, his brother, maybe even Bobby but combined it's just her. He allows her to infuse through his lungs and into his blood, soothing him from within, cleansing him of confusion, fear, insecurity, lies and all that's within him that he despises, replacing it with truth, certainty and clarity.

This is his reality. This is his safety. This is his normal.

This is where he can rest.

* * *

Sam panics when he wakes up alone.

Like most nights of late he'd stayed awake until he'd been satisfied Dean was asleep, waited until the breathing fell into a regular pattern and the creases on his forehead had faded. Only then had he been able to let sleep take him too. He'd been exhausted. The last few days or so he'd watched as Dean had slowly returned to him, the fear and confusion fading and replaced by the familiar mask which he recognised. As Dean's sense of reality had gradually drifted back his defences had followed suit. There had been no more tears, no more questions or heartbroken pleas. He hadn't woken up screaming since Bobby had left either. Instead he'd woken up breathing hard, biting down on his lip, his face betraying the visions of horror he'd seen in his sleep for only a second before the walls came back up.

And Sam hadn't known whether to be relieved - or something else.

Bobby had called of course. Checked in as he had called it and Sam had pretty much lied and told him Dean was getting there and was fine etc. etc. and Bobby had heard the unspoken words, seen right through the lies without having to see the tears in Sam's eyes and Sam had known all too well that Bobby hadn't fallen for any of it. Bobby had pretended he had, naturally and Sam had pretended that he believed that Bobby believed him because that was what they did.

It was confusing, not telling the truth but better than the alternative.

Because Sam knows that Dean isn't getting better and probably never will, Dean is just turning back into Dean again, the Dean who had always been screwed up, unhinged and broken anyway but now with just a little more crap to add to the collection of crappiness that he had acquired over the years.

But Dean hadn't spoken. Dean barely looked at him and hardly responded when spoken to. He'd gone through the normal routines, spent the day staring at the TV or into space and even eating a little but showed little evidence or suggestion of what was going off in his head. Sam had figured that Dean was just processing and that it was only a matter of time before he returned to normal. He had been able to see it in his eyes. Gone was the lost and frightened little boy who had looked to him to make it right, begged him not to leave, allowed him to provide comfort, leaned on him, cried on him and on his way back was his big brother, gradually rebuilding the walls that had been shattered, slowly piecing himself back together again because he was Dean Winchester and that was what he did.

But Sam had hated the silence, missed the banter and ached to just hear his brother's voice again and then at the end of a particularly long and non eventful day, just before they had both climbed into their respective beds Sam had turned to him and asked:

"Dean, when you gonna start talkin' to me again?"

Dean had just looked at him and for a second the mask had slipped and Sam saw the agony and horror he'd seen when he'd first found his brother tied to that post in that warehouse. But in a second it had vanished. Dean had turned away and closed his eyes. Shut him out. And it was so typically Dean.

That had been last night and something must have changed because when an unknown factor causes Sam to wake, he instinctively knows something is wrong. He feels the emptiness before he sees it. Senses the lack of something in the room; feels the absence of his brother and although the turning of his head towards where Dean should be simply confirms what he had already known, it doesn't prevent the wave of nausea washing over him.

He doesn't waste time by putting on his shoes or his coat, ignores the gravel scratching his feet as he finds himself outside and pacing across the car lot towards the Impala. he thinks he can see something inside, a shape pressing across the glass, a shadow created by the street light and he hopes, prays that it's real and not an optical illusion, or his mind making up what it wants to see and then feels the weight lift as he reaches the window to find his brother asleep, head leaning against the glass, looking decidedly peaceful and strangely comfortable.

He lifts a hand with the intention of knocking his brother awake then stops. It hits him then. Why Dean is here, why he'd chosen the cramped, cold interior of his car rather than the comfort of a warm bed. Why he'd left the safety of the motel room, left the security and companionship of his brother and chosen solitude. Why he'd chosen to be alone.

_He feels safer with her than with me_.

The guilt hits Sam before the tears spring into his eyes. His brother had chosen the company of a car, an inanimate object, over him. He knows it's just a car; logic, common sense and basic physics tells him that. He knows the car doesn't have a soul, doesn't have feelings and even if it has been the closest thing to a home either of them have had in a very long time he knows that the car can't and won't give his brother what he needs. But Dean obviously feels differently. Sam shudders. Sam feels sick to his stomach because he isn't sure of the reasons why. The reasons why Dean is sat huddled up inside a metal casing with no ability to offer anything other than a way from A to B and a place to sleep and he can't decide if it's what the car represents or the fact that the alternative is pretty crappy.

A car, a finite object could never change. Things don't change. Of course they get old, dirty and rusty and sometimes break but if you treat them with care, with respect they will last and they will remain unchanging. The same. People aren't so reliable. People screw up, people let you down, people hurt you and lie to you and leave you.

But the car never had. He had looked after the car and in return the car had stayed the same. The car had never shot him, the car had never called him pathetic, the car had never tortured him, the car had never been possessed by a psychopathic demon that had then used its frame to taunt and humiliate him. The car didn't yell at him or scold him whenever he was being an ass, didn't force him to talk when all he wanted to do was forget, the car had never left him and the car had never gotten itself killed so that he had no other choice but to sell his fucking soul for it.

"Dean..."

He whispers his brother's name, his breath catching in his throat, wishes he could tell him a million things but doesn't even know where to begin. He swallows back the pain, chin involuntarily trembling and touches the window lightly where his brother's head rests, lets it hover there for a moment, imagining that the glass isn't there, pretends the barrier between them doesn't exist and then briskly, before he can change his mind, whips open the car door and catches the shoulders, as they slide out into the cold night air, Dean's head flopping heavily on to his shoulder. He shifts his weight and then slides his left hand and forearm under Dean's knees, carefully lifting him out of the car and into his arms.

"I'm sorry man; I can't let you sleep out here."

He shuts the door with his foot, wincing at what Dean would say to him at showing his baby such a total lack of respect, almost finds himself about to apologise to her, then thinks better of it before carrying his sleeping lump of family back to the motel room.

With the door closed he stands there back aching, holding his brother knowing that if he values his spine he really should relinquish his charge but something is stopping him. Dean feels cold in his arms but at least he can feel him and a part of him just can't bear to let that go. He turns his head and presses his chin into Dean's cropped hair closing his eyes as the ache in his chest almost floors him; he shudders and breathes in sharply swallowing back the sob in his throat as the tears come close to overflow. He rapidly blinks them away snapping himself out of his misery before finally lowering his brother, slowly, carefully on to his bed.

He's getting used to putting Dean to bed it seems and he's starting to learn exactly how to position him to avoid disturbing or waking him.

He sits and waits a few seconds to be sure that he's settled before sighing deeply, once again at a loss as to his next course of action. Once again grateful that he doesn't have to face this right now, doesn't have to fix it right now because he has no idea how to fix it. How to fix Dean or how to fix himself.

Sam doesn't get anymore sleep that night.

* * *

When he steps out of the shower he's surprised to see Dean sat up in bed rubbing at his eyes and for a second he forgets that everything isn't fucked up beyond all recognition and is actually fooled into thinking this is just another day.

"Morning sunshine."

The blank, hollow stare Dean throws at him shatters that illusion pretty much immediately and he looks away wincing, his stomach doing that thing it does when it's just remembered that everything is still fucked up beyond all recognition.

He pads across to his bed to retrieve his clothes, rubbing at his hair with a small towel, a larger one wrapped around his waist.

"Listen, sorry to break up your party with the car, but it was getting kinda cold and..."

"I was fine Sam. You shouldn't have bothered."

He looks across at his brother, a little startled to hear him speak, a little relived to hear his voice sounding somewhere near normal. There's a painful moment of silence as their eyes meet. Then Sam swallows and looks away.

"I'm sorry, I just... I was worried about you."

Dean shrugs throwing back the covers.

"Nothin' to be sorry for Sammy, just next time save yourself the trouble."

"It wasn't any trouble."

Sam meets his eyes again and it's Dean's turn to avert his gaze, frowning uncomfortably as he swings his legs out of the bed, pushing himself stiffly and groggily to his feet. He's about to head to the bathroom when the pitiful sound of his little brother's voice pulls him back.

"I'll make it up to you ok?"

He turns to look at Sam once again and Sam's staring back, a look of pleading on his face, a look that Dean had witnessed so many times. He frowns slightly his head shaking a little, questioning.

"Make up for what?"

"For all the things I've done that made you trust a heap of metal more than me."

The comment hits him like a large and extremely heavy piece of furniture flung at him by an angry poltergeist, only it hurts twice as much and leaves him twice as stunned for twice as long but he somehow manages to do the decent thing and hold Sam's gaze and even from across the room he can see his little brother's eyes filling with tears and annoyingly finds his own doing the same.

"You didn't do anything, Sam..."

"Exactly."

Sam's gaze falters once again and he wonders if Dean can hear the unspoken words which seem to be screaming at him from within.

_I didn't stop it. I didn't save you. I can't save you._

"Sammy..."

"It's ok; you don't have to say anything. Just...believe me when I say I'll make it up to you, ok?"

He glances back up briefly to see Dean shaking his head, looking a little sad and maybe even guilty Sam thinks which is pretty much frigging typical. Sam tries not to look at him with the puppy eyes. Sam fails miserably.

"Sam, come on..."

Dean watches as his baby brother shrugs and looks down at his feet and then across to the side then back at him for a moment and then to the other side where they flicker about a little and then his voice goes all weak and throaty as if he's trying his hardest not to cry like a girl but Dean reckons he's fighting a losing battle.

"I just...I feel like I let you down."

"_What_?"

It's lame he knows but he's not sure what else he's supposed to say to that.

"It's ok, you should get in the shower, we're wasting the day."

Sam's mouth twitches up at the corner in a weak attempt at a smile, hurriedly scrubs a hand through his hair and starts looking around the room again probably to avoid eye contact Dean thinks but he doesn't push it, just watches him work through a thousand different emotions aware that he's pretty much helpless to do anything about them. Sam eventually finds his t-shirt and picks it up fingering it absently, finding the stitching incredibly fascinating apparently. He exhales sharply before looking up at his brother doing a really crappy job of pretending that his heart isn't breaking.

"So, you wanna go out for breakfast, or eat in."

Dean gives him an answer without needing to consider.

"In."

"No problem. Just let me get dressed and I'll go grab somethin'."

"Ok, little brother."

Sam gives him a one sided smile before turning away again. Dean smiles back a little, though it doesn't really reach his eyes, heads off to the bathroom, then pauses, his hand on the door and turns back.

"Oh, and Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"F.Y.I. - you refer to my baby as - and I quote: _'a heap of metal'_ again - I will have no other choice but to hit you."

Sam catches the familiar sparkle in Dean's eyes and laughs, only a little, but the light that returns to his eyes lifts Dean's mood enough to give them both some hope at least of getting through the next twenty four hours.

* * *

Later Sam returns with breakfast and they eat in silence, Dean flicking through TV channels, Sam skimming the local paper for news, omens or anything else to take his mind off of recent events. He occasionally looks across at his brother, opens his mouth to say something then changes his mind and turns back to the paper. The fifth time Dean huffs and sits up.

"Sam! Quit it ok? You got somethin' to say, just say it."

Sam smiles half heartedly and folds up the paper.

"I was just...I dunno, wondering how you were doing. I mean you haven't..."

"I'm fine, Sam."

Sam looks away muttering something which sounds a lot like 'annoyingly' and 'predictable'. Dean glares. Then looks away. Then sighs.

"What would you like me to say Sam? You prefer me to say I'm not fine? That I feel like crap? That I'm totally and completely fucked up? That make you happy?"

Sam looks at him sadly and shrugs.

"I just want you to be honest."

Dean turns back to the television.

"I'm fine, Sam. _Honestly_."

Sam looks away again pulling a face.

"You're a liar."

Another sigh.

Sam slaps the paper down on the table and gets to his feet, keeps his tone light.

"Fine. If you're fine then why don't we go see Bobby? See if he has any news."

Dean flinches but otherwise ignores the comment just as Sam knew he would.

"Hm. What I thought."

He drops back into his seat with a heavy huff, deflated and annoyed, like a cranky teenager Dean thinks.

Dean flicks the TV on to standby and turns to Sam his temper rising a notch.

"What the hell do you want from me, Sam?"

Sam swivels in his chair to face his irritated brother, feeling just as irritated, his hands flying out to the side in that way he does when he's reaching the end of his patience.

"I want you to talk to me, Dean. Is that really so fucking hard for you?"

"Actually, Sam, yes. It is."

They eyeball each other for a few seconds neither of them knowing who it is they're really angry with, both of them feeling pretty crappy about it and both of them wishing for some kind of reprieve, an interval within all the angst and perhaps just a short break from feeling so fucking miserable.

Sam's the first to look away and Dean can tell it's because his brother feels so frigging guilty about everything, because he thinks he's to blame, because he thinks he's the cause of why their lives are so incredibly messed up right now. He watches Sam fidget with his hands, picking at the skin on his thumb, his jaw moving from side to side, a subtle movement, almost unnoticeable, but to him an obvious sign he's in distress and maybe about a second away from tears. Which of course makes him feel like something very similar to shit.

"Sam..."

Sam nods, still looking miserable.

"I know."

"I just can't, alright Sam? Not about this. Not this time. I just... I can't. "

Sam's mouth twitches again as if he's trying hard to smile, to let his brother know it's ok, which might be the slightest bit more convincing if he could at least make eye contact.

"Sammy, it'll be ok. Truth is I can't even remember most of it. Kinda like a bad dream y' know?"

Sam nods reluctantly, still feeling and looking like hell, still feeling like a failure, but decides he isn't going to push Dean this time and it's partly because he doesn't really want to hear the details and partly because he has no idea how he'd deal with it anyway were Dean to actually spill and tell him everything. There's a fine line between not wanting to face something and not being able to. Sam knows that sometimes it really is just better to try and forget rather than pick it to pieces. Some things are just too difficult to face, too painful to discuss and some things are just impossible to fix anyway.

Some _people _are just impossible to fix.

He hadn't really expected Dean to talk because that would just be too frigging normal and too frigging well adjusted. Of course it doesn't really matter if you deal with your inner demons if you're already going to Hell. What's the point in putting yourself through hours of therapy, or exorcising all the crap inside of you if you're destined for an eternity of suffering anyway? He can't really blame Dean for seeing things that way but that doesn't mean he has to agree with him. He'd decided a long time ago that when they'd won the war and he'd gotten his brother's soul back that he and Dean were going to have one big fuck off talk and if Dean didn't like it then he could so screw himself.

They spend the rest of the day in the motel room because he gets the feeling that Dean can't face going outside although he never actually admits anything of the sort and the next day they head off to another town and Sam can sense things almost returning to normal, although it's normal wearing a clown's outfit because something feels wrong, because something is wrong because only days ago his brother was tortured by a demon possessing someone who was like a surrogate father to them and now he's acting like none of it ever happened.

So yeah, almost normal. Normal with a nervous tick.

* * *

"So, what about this one Sam. You think it's worth checkin' out?"

Sam leans over his brother's shoulder and scans the page. There's a picture of someone in a bear outfit holding up a ridiculously large cheque and a supposedly witty headline accompanying it, underneath there's a story about some z-lister whose been done for drink driving and to the left, the story he assumes his brother had been reading. There's a really bad sketch of someone with an impossibly large head, cross eyes and resembling something that really ought to be chained to a pole in a dusty old loft with only brief visits from it's psychopathic, interbreeding loving family.

"Hm, looks a bit like that dude from The Goonies."

"The _who-_sies?"

Dean looks up frowning questioningly at Sam who in turn gives his older brother an odd look before returning to the text scanning the short paragraph accompanying the hideous cartoon. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise and disbelief.

"Dude, seriously. _Cher_?"

Dean shrugs.

"S'what it says."

"You're not seriously buying this?"

Dean frowns and looks a little hurt. Sam laughs and reads aloud using his best I'm a Nasty Sarcastic Bitch voice.

"Dude, it says and I quote 'a revolting and hideous beast with an ardent penchant for _Cher__...'"_

He pauses for effect glancing at Dean who pouts and scowls at him even harder before licking his lip and turning back to the laughable so called story.

"'..._for Cher_...um...has been seen frequenting the local woods performing _karaoke_...'"

"Dude, I _can_ read."

Dean pulls the paper away from Sam's view and pouts again, still offended at his brother's mocking.

Sam chuckles.

"Dude, seriously, it's like - a hoax."

"You don't know that."

Sam laughs again and turns to flop down on to his bed.

"Look if you're really that desperate for somethin' to do then maybe we could, um chase some of these leads I've been workin' on."

"What leads?"

Dean discards the newspaper and turns in his seat to face Sam, the petulant scowl now replaced with a worried and slightly irritated frown. Sam scratches the back of his neck and looks away awkwardly.

"Um, leads on your um... deal."

Dean's eyebrows shoot up in his best patronising big brother expression.

"What you mean like more hoodoo crap?"

"Dude, it's not all _hoodoo crap_ - as you so delicately put it."

Sam's pleading puppy eyes follow Dean as he stands and walks around to his bed to retrieve his bag. A little distraction and something for him to do while his brother attempts to draw him into yet another argument.

"Sam, it's a waste of time."

He sits on the opposite bed and begins taking his weapons out of his bag, one by one, retrieves a filthy old rag and begins to pretend to clean them, check them and generally just moves them around, doing his best to ignore Sam who has now got to his feet to follow him like the little bitch that he is.

"Dean, we could at least look into it..."

"Look, I'm not having this conversation with you again, alright? We're not chasing any leads on the deal."

He drops a gun back into his bag and turns his best Because I said So look on to his little brother who is now towering over him like a Great Dane would over a man who had just been shrunk by some weird ass potion.

Sam sighs. A sound which sums up his entire frustration of having to relive this conversation over and over. He drops back down on to the bed, now facing Dean who has at least given up the pretence of cleaning guns.

"Dude, the whole 'because I say so' thing stopped working on me when I turned eighteen alright?"

"That's a bunch o' crap Sam. No matter how old you get, I'll always be older. Older as in wiser, smarter and better lookin'. now you gonna let this drop?"

"No."

The inflection makes it sound like a question and the hands thrown to the side in a gesture of indignation give Dean little option but to respond.

"Sam, come on, we've been here before. Like a thousand times already. You telling me you're not bored with this cos I know I am."

"Bored? Oh yeah I'm bored alright. Bored of how you can't even be bothered to help me save your ass."

"Because it's a waste of time Sam! You can't save me alright? No one can. And I'm sorry, but you're just gonna have to get used to it."

Sam leans forward pointing his finger towards Dean's chest.

"You see Dean, it's _that_ attitude which pisses me off. Get used to it like... like you just suddenly decided to go vegetarian, or voluntarily bald, or...gay."

Dean scowls horrified.

He shuffles backwards on to his bed still frowning at Sam until his back meets with the head board.

"_Dude_. What's _wrong_ with you?"

He picks up the remote from on top of the night stand and turns his look of mortification towards the television. Sam still doing his indignant wavy hands thing. And his eyebrows are now firmly knitted together as well.

"Me? What's wrong with _you_?"

"Hey! You know how I feel about meat products."

"You're being a dick."

"Well I know what you are but what am I?"

"_**Dean**_!"

Dean doesn't turn from the TV. Flicks through the channels briskly in that way he knows Sam finds incredibly annoying.

"See that's what I admire about you college boy, you're just so damn articulate."

"Dean..."

"_Sam. Sam. Sam._ Do I sound as smart as you? Do I? Do I? Do I?"

Dean flips through the channels in time to his mantra.

"Cut it out!"

"Make me."

Sam lunges forward and makes a grab for the remote only to have his hand slapped away by his big brother. He slaps him back and a flurry of hands later he has the remote in his possession and switches off the TV.

"Hey! I was watching that."

"No you weren't!"

"Was."

"You're acting like a child, Dean!"

"I know what you are but what am I?"

"You're a dick."

"I know you are but what am I?"

Sam huffs and folds his arms. Dean grins.

"Once again I win."

He retrieves the remote and turns the TV back on.

"Dean, it's not a competition."

"Sure it is. It's a battle of wills: your geek hood versus my charisma and devastating good looks."

Sam stands there seething; arms still crossed looking incredibly pissed. Dean looks up at him and raises an eyebrow.

"Y' know what you're right - it's not much of a competition."

Sam turns away pushing his hands through his hair and produces a prolonged noise sounding something similar to a farmyard animal but whatever it is it most definitely deserves to have a new word named after it. Dean turns his head giving his brother a thoughtful look.

"Remind me Sam, was that Latin for 'Dude you're an awesome brother'?"

Sam scowls but says nothing and Dean grins, nodding triumphantly

"I think it was."

"Asshole."

"Mimsy."

"Dickwad."

"Prom queen."

"Nobsack."

Sam's final insult causes Dean to sit up not sure whether he should be impressed or disgusted.

"_What_?"

"You heard."

Sam's plops down on to the chair near the window, his face pulled into what could only be described as Nasty Whiney Bitch.

"Dude where did you even get that, it's not even constitutional."

"It's a word."

Sam pulls another face, which varies only slightly from Nasty Whiney Bitch.

"No. No, it's not. Not any word I know of anyhow."

"It's somethin' I heard Bela say one time, alright?"

"Dude, do not be quoting that evil, sociopathic piece of British skank anywhere near my general vicinity alright? What's it supposed to mean anyway?"

"How the hell should I know? I just liked the way it sounded."

"You're a dork."

* * *

The rest of the afternoon continues in a similar vein. The infantile bickering which some may also describe as banter - although not many - starts and stops at regular intervals and Sam almost forgets the misery of the last few days. It helps Dean too. As does the beer they're drinking. Helps as in helps him to forget and also the fact that Sam doesn't look like a picture of misery is always a good thing. Naturally though as more beer is consumed it has the usual effect of convincing Sam that now would be a perfect time to not only drag up age old arguments but also to force a 'moment' on to his big brother, who despite having also consumed a large amount of alcohol, does not feel the need to explore his Inner Woman. Of course, as usual Sam cares little about that fact as he is already fully versed with his Inner Woman, not to mention his Inner Bitch, his Inner Oprah, his Inner Gay Guy and his Inner Pain in the Ass.

"Don't think I didn't notice how you managed to change the subject earlier Dean."

"What?"

Dean is lounging on his bed experimenting with how many curly fries he can fit into his mouth before either the salt makes it go numb or he starts to gag, while Sam sits near the window, flicking through a book that makes War and Peace look like something you would think nothing of wiping your ass on should you be stranded in the wilderness.

"Nothing's changed, just cause you managed to temporarily avoid the subject, doesn't mean I'm just gonna give up on trying to find a way out for you."

Dean rolls his eyes and wipes the salt from around his mouth, before chewing and finally swallowing the remainder of the curly fries.

"Dude, seriously, give it a rest."

Sam shrugs casually.

"Nah. Not until I find a loophole anyway."

He stops to take a long gulp of his beer, then exhales loudly.

"I mean, seriously Dean, did you really think that I would just let this go? Just move on and get over it?"

Dean sits up and grabs his own beer, turning it in his hand and picking subconsciously at the label.

"Actually, I do. Sure you're being a real drama queen about it now but you'll get over it. In fact you'll not only be ok, you'll be better than ok."

He tips the bottle cheerfully towards Sam, to emphasise his point, a point that Sam really didn't need emphasising.

"_Excuse me_?!"

Dean shrugs, the beer in him affecting the part of his brain that normally tells him to shut the hell up before his little brother smacks him in the mouth.

"You lived without me once, you'll do it again. Lets face it Sam, a big part of you's gonna heave a huge sigh of relief when I'm gone, we both know that."

He regrets it the instant he's said it and he doesn't have to look at Sam to realise just how much he really shouldn't have. He swears he feels the air shift, almost hum with energy, his ears ringing, skin turning to ice and he can almost physically feel the anger radiating from his brother sat only feet away. He swallows thickly, shudders and hopes Sam doesn't notice him flinch, keeps his eyes forward too afraid to turn and look at him.

He doesn't see the flash of anger in his brother's eyes, doesn't see the slight curl of his mouth, or the grinding of his teeth, the faint twitch of his eyebrows, all tell tale signs of the fury, the storm only seconds from erupting.

Dean remains crossed legged on his bed still fiddling with the bottle, eyes now fixed on the label, sensing his brother's anger rising with every passing millisecond and Sam doesn't miss the tensing of his jaw, or the muscles in his arms tightening. His own do the same, synchronised almost in sympathy but the silence hangs like a referee between them, waiting for the next blow to be thrown, until Sam finally inhales deeply, finds his voice, the low, controlled near whisper making Dean's stomach twist.

"That what you really think?"

Dean says nothing, keeps his eyes fixed on their position, wishing he could undo the last thirty seconds.

"Answer me!"

He turns his head towards Sam but doesn't quite meet his eyes, the eyes that are blazing, furious and dark not like his little brother's, but like someone else, some_thing_ else.

"I just meant that...it'll be easier for you, with me gone."

Sam shakes his head, his voice still low, but now trembling with anger.

"How can you say that? You really think that little of me? That I could just forget you, like all this means nothing? How can you? How you even _think_ it?"

Dean looks at him then and Sam thinks he sees his eyes glistening, which kind of makes sense considering the obvious tremor in his voice.

"Because Sam, it's all I got ok? Holding on to that last bit of hope that..."

The control disappears then both voices rising.

"Hope? _Hope_, Dean? Hope for what? Hope that you'll die?"

"No Sam! Hope that this thing I did will actually turn out ok. Hope that you'll make it. Hope that one day you'll be ok and hope that maybe for once I actually did something good in my sorry assed life."

This is the point, it seems, where something inside Sam snaps. He's not sure if it's the stress and anxiety of the past few months finally catching up with him, the number of times that Dean has pissed him off with his defeatism, with his death wish heroics, or just the fact that this latest pearl of stupidity that has just erupted from some twisted part of his brother is enough to make him want to rip his own head off and throw it at Dean's. He stands slowly, turning his back on his brother, drains the last bit of liquid from the beer bottle, examines it, turns it over in his hand rubbing his thumb up and down the green tinted glass and then in one motion, spins around hurling it across the room to collide with the door, missing his brother's head by inches. His brother who barely flinches.

The bottle shatters into an unknown number of pieces and Dean shudders as a sense of de ja vu washes over him but otherwise doesn't move, keeps his position staring straight ahead, trying to make the tears in his eyes disappear.

Sam stands there shaking, breath heavy and now also close to tears, a fact Dean notices as he slowly turns his head to look up at him and suddenly he decides he needs to go to him. He slides slowly off the bed watching Sam as he moves towards him and then carefully places a hand on his younger brother's trembling shoulder.

"Easy, bro. Take it easy."

Sam allows him to guide him back to his seat, his head falling into his hands. Dean crouches next to him, both hands now firmly planted on his little brother's upper arms.

"Come on, Sammy."

Sam looks up then eyes still furious but red rimmed and shiny, his voice shaking almost as much as his limbs.

"Why? Tell me why?"

"Because I have to Sam. I have to believe that this will turn out okay for you. How the hell d'you think I keep going, huh?"

Sam shakes his head, staring into his brother's glassy green eyes.

"You stupid bastard...you still don't get it do you? It's not going to be _okay, _Dean. It'll never be okay. You die and that's it for me. It's OVER! And...I'm sorry if that hurts you I really am, but it's the _truth_."

He stops to take a breath, a moment to consider the effect this is having on his brother and doesn't have to consider too hard because it's right there staring back at him. Dean drops his head and pushes up to sit on the edge of the bed, still facing Sam but not looking at him.

"I meant what I said Dean. I don't care what it takes I'm gonna beat it if it's the last damn thing I do. I know you're scared but you don't have to be cause I _am_ going to save you because I have to but... but if I can't and you die then I'm gonna spend every second of my miserable life finding a way to get your ass out of Hell and if all else fails then I'm gonna come down there to find you and drag you out of there myself."

Dean swallows the rock in his throat. Hates the feeling of gratitude that overwhelms him, hates the sting in his eyes, hates the burn in his chest and hates the part of him that so badly wants to believe what his brother is telling him. Because none of that had ever mattered and he doesn't want it to start to matter all he wants is for Sam to be okay and the thing that scares him the most is the possibility that he won't be okay. Ever.

Sam shakes his head the anger turning to a deep and encompassing sadness, to suffocating despair and to a debilitating ache for his brother's doomed soul. He drops and crouches down in front of Dean, grabbing a fistful of shirt forcing him to look at him.

"Don't you get it, you prick? Don't you know by now how much you... how much I..."

Dean winces at the pitiful face staring back at him, glances away then back, tries to offer something with a look, tries to think of something to say, but fails on all counts.

Sam lets go of his shirt and looks away suddenly feeling very tired, his tone full of defeat and something else a little like despair.

"You know what. I've had it. You can think what you like. Right now - I'm done."

He pushes to his feet and seems to be trying to shake off the feelings of general crappiness, then nods resolutely as if coming to a conclusion, the change in mood disturbing Dean somewhat.

"I'm going to get us something to eat. Hot dogs sound good to you?"

Dean looks up and nods trying to hide the concern.

"Sure. Why not."

Sam nods again, then disappears without looking back.

* * *

When Sam returns he's subdued and miserable and with a face like a slapped ass. Dean tries his best to cheer him up but only gets Sam's bitch face turned on him. Dean watches TV and drinks more beer and Sam flicks through newspapers and books and the slapped ass face remains in place until bedtime although Dean swears if Sam were to open his eyes it would still be there. The next day Sam goes for an early morning walk and doesn't come back.

It's just after midday when Dean lets his anxiety get the better of him and decides to go and look for Sam. He drives around the town, asks around at shops and diners and even the local library until his stomach begs him to take a break. It's two o' clock when he finally tracks him down to a local bar, sat hunched up nursing a tumbler containing a shot of whiskey.

Dean can't help but be worried at the sudden change in his little brother's mood. It disturbs him how he can switch from being determined and furious to miserable and depressed in the space of a few hours. Of course whiskey will help with that but still, it bothers him all the same.

It bothers Sam too. He hasn't failed to notice how frayed his nerves are lately, how short his temper is, how easily he is angered and how that anger can suddenly change to the most crippling sadness and excruciating pain so vivid it's almost physical. Some days he's so sure that they're going to win, beat the deal, win the war send the demons back to Hell and then some days he feels hopeless, useless and a complete failure. He wonders how it's possible to fail at just about everything you try. Every day he wakes up and fights for his brother's soul and he knows he's not just fighting the demons but the crap in Dean's head too and every day he goes to sleep knowing that once again he has failed.

But then another day starts and he can try again, try to get through to his brother, hassle Bobby to try yet more of his contacts, the contacts that he's already tried several times, tries more hopeless searches on the web, makes more pointless phone calls hoping that this one will be it only to be told that there is no hope and all the while knowing that the day will come when it will be too late and his brother will be taken from him. The day will come when he will have to face the fact that he has failed. Failed to save Dean, from the demon who holds his contract and from himself.

And some days when there is no one else left to try a glass of whiskey will help numb the agony and slow down the ever present clock ticking away in his head.

_"I tried Dean...where you're going, what you're gonna become. I can't stop it."_

And admitting defeat to Dean is the worst kind of failure he knows, knows that letting Dean believe he's given up on him feels the same as putting a gun to his head but whiskey will do that to you too. Whiskey helps but it also doesn't help one bit. In fact it makes it worse. Why should Dean care though because Dean has already decided his fate and Dean has already given up. Dean doesn't care about going to Hell, Dean doesn't care that he's going to die and he realises that you can't fix that kind of personality flaw because there's just too much damage there for anything to be salvaged.

_"How can you care so little about yourself? What's wrong with you?"_

Dean doesn't get to respond because his phone rings and then as if they don't have enough to deal with they're dealt yet another joyful kick in the jewels.

TBC

_I know it sounds like a cliff hanger but it isn't really cause you all know what happens next anyway. I wasn't going to end it here but this chapter went on a bit and the tone changes with the next and final chapter so it seemed right to put in a break here. _

Disclaimer: Sam's opinions and beliefs regarding the car do not in anyway reflect the opinions and beliefs of the author. OF COURSE SHE HAS A SOUL DAMMIT.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N So I finally finished it - it's a long one so don't start it unless you've got plenty of time. Big Thanks to everyone who's been reading this and especially if you've left a comment. It's always really appreciated no matter how brief and even bigger thanks to the regular reviewers. It's nice to know that someone is enjoying this rambling mess.**

**There's a conversation in here between the boys which is a little similar in tone to the one at the end of Long Distance Call _("Do you wanna poem?"_ LOL), I actually wrote it ages ago so no plagiarism intended but I thought it worked as a nice mirror so I left it in. Hopefully you'll know what I mean when you read it, otherwise just ignore me. I tend to talk a lot of crap.**

**Also don't know if it matters but I finished this before I saw the finale. Hope you all enjoyed.**

**Chapter 13**

Dean isn't sure whether Sam had left him alone with Bobby deliberately or not but he realises that he's glad of the opportunity. He'd wanted to talk to the older man so badly but at the same time the very thought of even coming into contact with him had terrified him. Of course it's much easier to talk to someone when they're not looking at you, when they're lying flat on their back with their eyes closed and you're not even sure they can even hear you.

He watches Bobby sleep. At a glance he looks peaceful, at rest as if he's taking a nap but if anyone were to look a little closer they would see something else. The flicker of his eyes under the lids, the slight tensing of the jaw and the occasional twitch of the brow is all Dean needs to know that something else is going on, something within the old man's mind, something which only Bobby is aware of and it scares the hell out of him.

In the years they had known him, Bobby had rarely called on them for help. It was usually the other way around because what Bobby Singer doesn't know about demons is either made up or not even worth knowing. Dean can't recall the countless times they'd called for his assistance and he'd never turned them away or let them down. Of course that didn't mean he couldn't insult them, give them hell and point out that they were morons, idjits, imbeciles or whatever other colorful phrases he could think of to give them a hard time about their ignorance that had once again got them dropped into yet another steaming pile of manure. And he had always pretended that he didn't relish the opportunity to help them out, to bail their asses out of whatever hole they had gotten into and Dean had always known it was bullshit. He's pretty sure that Bobby knows he'd never bought it too but they're guys and that's what guys do.

Dean smiles fondly, remembering the many times he'd turned to the older hunter and feels suddenly privileged to be able to at least try and repay the favour.

"You know Bobby; you're supposed to be the one who gets our asses outta trouble. Imagine that huh? I mean _you_ needing _our_ help; you aint ever gonna live this down old man."

The slight chuckle turns into a wince as the reality keeps prodding its way back into his mind. The reality that neither he or Sam has the slightest idea of what it is Bobby's fighting, or how they're going to help him. And then there's the other reality, the reality that his last words to Bobby had been spoken in anger, in hysteria and the reality that he may never be able to make it right. He shakes his head sadly, subconsciously picking at his thumb, his words tumbling out knowing no one can hear him.

"I didn't mean it y'know. Any of it. I was...I dunno, I guess I was a little messed up. I didn't want you to leave; I didn't mean to push you away."

He swallows thickly at hearing the break in his voice and sends out silent thanks to whoever is listening that Bobby can't hear or see his weakness, his vulnerability, can't see him crumble.

He runs a hand across his face, shaking his head and smirking bitterly.

"Why do I do that Bobby? Why do I push people away? Treat the people I love like crap? What's wrong with me? Why can't I just..."

He trails off as the inevitable tears rush into his eyes, clenches his fists, nails digging into his palms in an attempt to stop the shaking in his hands, tries not to imagine life without the old man. Tries not to think about losing the only family - save each other - he and his brother have left. Tries not to remember the crippling pain that had overcome him when their Dad left them, when Sam left him, tries to pretend the fear isn't there in the back of his mind and tells himself that Bobby will be fine because he's Bobby and he has to be.

He leans forward a little, lowers his voice to avoid being overheard.

"You have to keep fighting Bobby. I dunno what's goin' on here but we'll figure it out. Hell you know how smart Sammy is..."

He chuckles again and tries to blink away the tears which refuse to go away and leave him alone.

"Just hang on okay? Cause... We can't lose you - _I_ can't lose you. Please - just don't die on us okay?"

The tears finally slip free and he manages to brush them away just as a nurse enters the room. She smiles sympathetically at him and he manages to smile back before turning his face away and hurriedly leaving the room. It takes him a while to compose himself in the men's room. The tears keep coming and he can't seem to stop the shaking but after a while it stops. He returns to Bobby's side and watches him silently, no more words to say.

* * *

They don't talk about it. It's not the time or the place and besides they have a hunt to concentrate on. He's shocked because he hadn't known about Bobby's wife, hadn't known that he had lost someone too. He feels like crap because he should know, should have asked a long time ago, should have made an effort and he realises there must be so much he doesn't know about the man who had become part of his family so long ago. Bobby of course brushes it off, tells him not to be sorry, thanks him and looks at him in that way that could be telling him a thousand other things, things that he can't voice, things that would be too hard to say, too hard to hear but that Dean can hear anyway.

_You saved my life, I'm sorry, sorry I left, sorry I hurt you, forgive me._

He gives him a similar look in return. One that is supposed to say that he understands, that he's glad he's okay, that he wishes he'd not messed everything up, that he can't forgive him because there's nothing to forgive, that he's sorry too. Of course neither of them can be sure that the message has been received but it doesn't really matter because they have a job to do and that right now is enough for them to be able to return to normality, to keep up the pretence that _it_ never happened and that everything isn't messed up beyond rescue.

They do what they do and finish the job and pick themselves up and carry on. Dean lies about the dream as the universe - the entire cosmos would expect him to, doesn't tell Sam about meeting himself, about facing his inner Hell about the anger he had buried for so long, about the fear, the terror of what he's going to become and Sam doesn't push it although whether he buys it or not isn't clear.

And he's not sure why he chooses this moment to tell Sam what he'd been wanting to hear since that day when the world changed, when all hell broke loose, not sure if he's doing it for Sam or because the dread, the fear the suffocating terror he's feeling is just too much to keep hidden anymore and now for some reason he just wants to hear Sam tell him that everything will be okay, that he'll save him, that he _will_ save him and that they'll find a way together the way they always do.

And of course Sam doesn't let him down and it's just about enough to keep up the charade that everything is fine, that everything is normal.

Until the nightmares return with enthusiasm.

* * *

They'd lost Bela's trail almost immediately. Bobby had followed them although Dean had said it wasn't necessary and Bobby had said he didn't have anything better to do and considering they'd been so dumb as to lose the Colt in the first place he thought it best if he kept an eye on them for a while and then he'd given Dean a look which left no room for argument and Dean had simply looked away unable to hold the older man's gaze and only Sam had seen Bobby flinch with what was quite obviously guilt.

And they didn't talk about it.

They'd eaten together and made small talk about previous hunts, omens and Bela and what Dean was going to do to her when they finally caught up with her and occasionally Bobby would catch his eye and then Dean would look away awkwardly and Sam would bite on his lip.

They don't stay in the same motel. Bobby says he knows someone who works in the one in the centre of town who may be able to help with Bela but that it would be better if he goes alone and Sam tries to argue that they should stay together but Dean pretty much agrees that no they should stay in the one just out of town and let Bobby do what he does best. Sam reluctantly goes along with it and says nothing but inside his head his brain is yelling at him to do something. He ignores it.

* * *

The nightmares of course had never really stopped, just eased in their intensity. Sam had woken on occasions but usually Dean managed to keep from disturbing his little brother and had fooled himself into thinking that he was fooling Sam. He should have known better though because it's rare that Sam is ever fooled by anything.

But since their little trip into dreamland something had changed. Sam's not sure if the dream root had simply reignited the memories in Dean's head, intensifying them and bringing them back to the surface or if it has something to do with what happened while Jeremy was beating the crap out of him. Either way the nightmares are nearly as violent and disturbing as before and the only difference is that Dean seems to recover quicker, regains composure almost immediately.

When Dean wakes up for the third time that night breathing heavily, shaking and close to tears Sam's brain is still screaming at him and this time he doesn't ignore it. He watches Dean as he pads softly to the bathroom failing to hide his face or the fear in his eyes. He waits patiently for him to return after splashing water on his face and relieving himself before he makes his move.

"How long we gonna do this for man?"

"Sam, leave it alright?"

Dean collapses back on to his bed, flat on his back and closes his eyes, trying to let Sam know that he is tired, damn it and would like to go back to sleep. Unfortunately Sam doesn't seem to understand this particular code that he's using and ploughs on regardless.

"How can I? It's killing you, Dean. You can't keep this up long term bro seriously."

"I can handle it, Sam."

"Why can't you just tell me?"

There's a long moment filled with silence, Dean still has his eyes closed but can practically feel his brother's boring into him. He tries not to speak, tries to make it all go away but it doesn't, it doesn't go anywhere, just stays there hanging in the room over their heads refusing to be ignored. He whispers softly and hopes that Sam will accept it, hopes that he'll let it go this time.

"Because I can't, Sam."

* * *

The next day Bobby thinks his friend may have a lead but explains they have to hang around for a few days until his friend can confirm the intel. Bobby looks suspiciously at Dean and Sam thinks he must have noticed the shadows under his brother's eyes and the redness around the lids but he doesn't say anything and Dean continues to avoid his gaze.

Dean's stood by the window in Bobby's hotel room staring out on to the street watching cars and people and more cars and Sam and Bobby sit at the table chatting casually although Sam can tell the older man is distracted and he keeps glancing over at Dean and the third time he does it Sam stops mid sentence. The break brings Bobby's attention back to the youngest of the three and Sam looks at him and Bobby looks back and neither of them has to say anything. Bobby goes over to the elder Winchester still deep in his thoughts and he nearly jumps right out of his skin when Bobby touches his arm.

The two men stand motionless staring at each other, Dean breathing heavily eyes wide with fear. Bobby is the first to look away taking a step back and clears his throat awkwardly.

"Bobby, I'm sorry I..."

The younger man sounds desperate, fearful and Bobby just shrugs, offers him a sympathetic look which Dean seems to misinterpret somehow. The younger man shakes his head, sorrow burning in his eyes, burning into Bobby's and then turns heads for the door and leaves. No one goes after him.

Some time later Sam returns to their motel room to find Dean sat on his bed staring into space. He sits on the adjacent bed and waits, waits to see if his brother is ready to talk to him. He waits a long time and nothing happens.

"Dude, maybe you should get some rest. You look like hell."

Sam flinches at his own words but Dean says nothing.

* * *

The nightmares vary only slightly. There's at least four or five a night now and Sam swears they're increasing in their intensity. Dean occasionally cries out in his sleep but when he wakes it's always the same. He's always terrified, confused and disorientated for seconds never longer and he always refuses to talk about it but then one night he screams at Sam to get away from him, pleads with him to leave, to get out of the room and Sam swears the fear in Dean's eyes isn't fear of him but fear for him.

"Look maybe it would help if you wrote them down."

"What? You're kidding me right?"

"Write down what happened. If you can't talk about it, write it down - then maybe I can help you."

"Oh great, more of the touchy feely crap, Sam..."

"Look you don't have to write how you feel just what happened. I know it's hard for you to talk about but I can't help you if you don't tell me."

"I don't need help Sam. And I'm not writing anything down. You're just pissed you didn't get to see anything while you were wandering round in my head."

"Yeah cause it's takes a mind reader to figure out what's goin' on with you."

"Look, I don't need to talk about it and I aint writing anythin' down. End of."

* * *

The next morning Dean's still asleep when Sam heads for the shower, when he comes out he's fidgeting restlessly and when he's done fastening the last button on his shirt he looks up to see Dean sitting up in bed staring straight ahead and Sam's not entirely sure if he's asleep or awake.

"Dean?"

He pads around to Dean's bed sits carefully on the end not too close but so he's facing his brother. Dean stares through him, chin trembling slightly.

"Do you think I deserved it?"

"What?"

Dean shakes his head tears visible in his eyes.

"I'm sorry."

The agony in Dean's voice shakes Sam to his centre and he moves closer, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder.

"Dean, come on man wake up."

He gives him a slight shake and it's enough to snap Dean out of whatever it is that's haunting him. He gasps suddenly breathing hard, grabs hold of Sam's T-shirt his terrified eyes locking on to his brother's.

"Easy, man, take it easy."

Sam eyes him with concern but it doesn't take long for Dean to regain his composure, pushes Sam away and heads for the bathroom. This time Sam stops him with a hand on his arm.

"Dean, I'm done pissing around with this alright? We're talkin' about it today."

Dean glares at him and shrugs his arm free. Closes the bathroom door a little louder than necessary.

* * *

When Dean's finally dressed Sam's sitting at the lap top pretending to read something but in truth his thoughts are elsewhere. Dean flops down on to the end of his bed, sits leaning forward slightly arms resting on his knees his brow tugged into a slight frown. Sam gives him the once over before spinning in his seat to face him.

"So, Bobby called."

Dean's jaw twitches slightly but otherwise gives no reaction.

"He's heading out of town for a while to follow up on something one of his other contacts called him about. His friend at the hotel's still hasn't come through but he's still waiting. We should hear somethin' in a few days."

Dean says nothing, doesn't even look in his direction, gives him no indication that he's even heard let alone cares. Sam continues anyway.

"So...I thought it would give us some time to talk."

"Sam..."

"No, Dean. I've had it. We're dealing with this right now, like it or not."

Dean sighs heavily, turns his head towards him but doesn't look him in the eye, but Sam can see that the defiance isn't there anymore, replaced with something else, maybe defeat, maybe fatigue maybe something else.

"What d'you wanna know?"

Sam leans forward and softens his voice a little.

"As much as you can tell me."

Dean turns his head away again, shaking it a little, grins bitterly then stops bites on his lip, tries to steady his voice.

"It's always the same Sam, it's either you, or Dad, or Mom and...sometimes Bobby and...and you're all..."

He trails off and Sam considers giving him time to finish but decides his brother might need a little help.

"What? Torturing you? Humiliating you?"

"Leaving, alright? All of the above and then...then you leave."

"Why do we leave?"

"I dunno, cause you're afraid of me I guess."

"_Afraid _of you?"

"Afraid, disgusted - I dunno it's a dream alright?"

Sam senses his brother's temper rising, the usual defence when things get too much for him but he presses on, all the while keeping his voice soft but firm.

"And how much of it is real Dean?"

"None of it Sam, it was a nightmare."

Sam sighs.

"No, I mean based on stuff that already happened. Like when Dad was taken by Yellow Eyes and Meg got inside me, all of it. Is that where this is coming from or somethin' else?"

"What does it matter Sam?"

"It matters because I'm tryin' to figure out what's goin' on here. I know somethin' happened when we took that dream root, somethin' that you don't wanna tell me and I know that what that demon did to you, what they all did to you, what _we_ did to you has somethin' to do with why you're so messed up. But what I'm tryin' to work out is where this all started."

Dean stands his anger getting the better of him as he realises that Sam is after more than just his nightmares. He suddenly feels tricked, betrayed because this is more than he can deal with, more than Sam had let on and he had never agreed to this.

"Just where the hell you goin' with this Sam?"

"I don't know Dean, why don't you tell me?"

"I told you already. You said you wanted to know about the nightmares and I told you. So we done here?"

Sam stands to face his brother holding his hands up in what he believes is a calming gesture.

"Dude, take it easy okay? I'm just tryin' help you deal with this."

The last of Dean's rapidly fraying patience runs out and he turns on Sam without hesitating.

"No, Sam! What you're doin' is tryin' to get in my head and I don't need it!"

Following his brief but angry tirade he turns away from his brother running a hand through his hair. Sam steps towards him and places a hand on his arm.

"Dude, I just want you to talk to me."

Dean turns on him again the anger increasing if anything.

"Oh I know that, you always want to talk, cause in little Sammy's world talkin' solves everything right? Talking is the cure to the worlds problems, talking makes everything bad go away and lets face it if someone had have just _talked_ to little Osama before he decided to become a genocidal, war mongering prick, then maybe he could have grown up to be a Labrador breeder with a part time job as a children's party entertainer with the amazing ability to shoot sunbeams out of his ass!"

Sam ignores the finger stabbed in his direction, keeps his posture passive, non-threatening, his expression calm, says nothing and just waits.

"You wanna talk Sam? Well you're the smart one why don't _you_ tell _me_?!"

"Because I want you to tell me."

"Yeah? **_Too bad!_**"

Dean turns away again his face contorted in fury, his breathing hard now as he finds himself coming close to his threshold and frustrated to find that his eyes are burning.

"Dean how much did you buy into it huh? I mean all that crap they put on you, I know it hurt, but you know that it was bullshit right?"

"Sure, Sam."

"So tell me, man; why can't you let it go? If that's all this is, why not just let it go? Unless there's somethin' else."

"You don't know what you're talkin' about."

"You're right, I don't. I mean I always knew you had stuff goin' on, I guess I only figured out just how screwed up you were when you made that deal. I dunno maybe I always knew, maybe I was just kidding myself that it was just grief, after Dad died. But it wasn't was it. I mean this goes back years, am I right? You've always been screwed up and not just the guilt complex thing I always knew about that, but I mean _really_ screwed up."

"You know Sammy, you're getting a little personal here."

He turns back round to face Sam, the anger levels dropping a notch but still there with the potential to blow. Sam risks taking a step closer, risks changing his tone, risks infuriating his brother even more because he knows that sometimes that's the only way.

"Hey feel free to set me straight man. Unless of course I'm right. But what I can't figure out is why. I mean what was it Dean, was it the fire, losing Mom, it can't have been the hunt cause you always raved about it like you were born to it or somethin'."

"Why don't you shut your mouth?"

"What Dean am I getting close? I mean you blame yourself for everything, you sell your soul because you think you're worthless, you buy into all the crap that Swiss Family Azazel tell you and you're still having nightmares about your family - your family who love you who would die for you, torturing you, deserting you and generally tryin' to screw you up even more and all I can think of is why the hell you believe it all."

"Seriously. Shut up."

Dean steps closer this time, a fighting stance, his expression hard, warning, threatening and completely wasted on his little brother who is apparently now immune.

"Why Dean? Why do you do this to yourself, you a masochist is that it? Why are you like this Dean? Why do you always think the worst about yourself? Why do you always assume that no one needs you like you need them?"

Dean glares at him his lip twitching almost into a snarl, Sam glares back waiting for the blow that never comes.

"You know what I'm done with this. You wanna pick someone's brain to pieces then why don't y' go back to college cause I don't need it."

He turns for the door.

"Dean wait. I'm not done."

"Yeah? Well too bad cause I am."

Sam grabs his arm and pulls him back in the room stepping around him and blocking the door.

"No. No you're not."

Dean glares at him.

"Get out of the way."

Frustrated and growing impatient Sam raises his voice and hopes it's loud enough to get through his brother's stubborn skull.

"Talk to me, ok? This is your chance, to let me know everything. Just tell me, yell at me, hit me whatever just get if out of your system."

"I don't need this, Sam."

"Yeah - you do..."

"NO! YOU need to do this _not me_."

"You're wrong man..."

"Sam, get out of my way!"

"No. Not this time."

"Move."

"Tell me."

"There's_ nothing_ to tell."

Sam says nothing this time, doesn't budge just puts folds his arms his face a picture of serenity which just fuels Dean's rage even more which is pretty much Sam's intention. Dean glowers, his brow furrowed and jaw so tense, Sam can practically hear his teeth grinding. When he finally speaks he barely opens his mouth.

"_Fine_. You wanna know?"

Sam nods but says nothing, suddenly feeling very nervous.

"You really wanna know? I mean, _really_?"

Sam just looks at him, a little shocked that his brother has actually backed down and now not all that sure he wants to hear, disturbed by Dean's demeanour, his shoulders, the muscles in his face, his arms, his fists - everything held so taught like a coiled spring, wound to the point of breaking but held together for too long.

"You wanna know why I'm so 'screwed in the head'?"

Sam flinches at the phrase and the sarcasm in his brother's tone, sees no humour in the 'quotey fingers', swallows back his apprehension as he prepares for what he can only imagine is years of pent up frustration and anger, buried so deeply Dean hadn't even known it was there.

Dean pauses, not for effect but to give his brain chance to reconsider, almost doesn't continue but when he does he has every intention of spilling the truth to his little brother, to let him know just what his father had done to him, not out of cruelty but out of fear and paranoia and a near insane obsession to gain vengeance for his family. Dean's mouth opens to speak and he tries so hard to explain it all, to relay how you could love someone, worship them so much it could destroy you day by day as you worked tirelessly for them, only for them, for their approval, just for the chance that one day they may look at you with something other than disappointment or criticism. His lips move and he tries to articulate just why being told over and over again to look out for your brother, to keep him safe, to protect him no matter what the cost could gradually wear you down, destroy your own sense of self and leave you feeling utterly worthless. He tries. He does. He tries so hard but what he actually says is something else.

"You wanna know Sam?"

Sam nods again, disturbed to find his eyes filling with tears as if in anticipation of what is coming.

"You wanna know why I act the way I do, or why I think everyone's gonna leave me or why sometimes it feels like I'm the most pointless human being on the planet then why don't you take a look in the **DAMN MIRROR**!"

Dean's words hit Sam like a shock wave, he recoils, almost stumbles backwards, the echoes of Dean's tirade bouncing around his head over and over and he can't tear his gaze away from Dean's, simply stares speechless into the orbs of green now watery, furious and mirroring the agony within his own soul.

He swallows thickly and manages to produce a sound; a sound weak and pathetic and completely inadequate.

"_What_?"

"You heard me."

Sam shakes his head, opens his mouth to speak. Shuts it again and looks away.

"What, you want me to spell it out to you?"

Dean tries to stop; tries to take it back but something inside him won't allow it. Sam looks back at him blinking a little, frowning only slightly, waiting patiently, waiting for more abuse, more anger, more hate to be thrown at him.

"It was YOU Sam! YOU did this to me. YOU made me like this when you took all the years I spent looking after you, raising you, putting you before EVERYTHING and flushed em down the pan! You got up and you walked away Sam. Away from _me_. You just left like it all meant nothing. You left...you left me alone."

Sam blinks harder, nodding almost in agreement, his heart telling him that was he's hearing is the truth but a small feeble voice in his head just wanting to deny it all. He drops his eyes slightly, his voice faltering in accordance.

"You had Dad."

"HE WASN'T AROUND! He stayed as far away from me as possible. He didn't want me, he wanted YOU. The only time I ever saw him those first few months he was out of his mind on booze. He blamed me Sam. He blamed me for everything. You were his favourite, you always were - I was just your damn bodyguard."

Sam's head snaps up then, his eyes still watery but defiant now.

"_That's not true_."

"Yes _it is. _I thought he hated me. I thought I'd lost everyone all before I even hit twenty five. Do you know what that's like Sam? Thinkin' you're all alone and that no on gives a rat's ass about you? Actually believing the person who you spent your life looking out for, protecting - not just because it was your job but because you wanted to - knowing that person couldn't give a damn about you, could just walk away like you were nothing? You wanna know why I hate myself, it's because I always thought everyone else did. You wanna know why I'm afraid of being alone, it's because I've _always_ been alone. You wanna know why I sometimes feel like I should be dead it's because no one ever told me otherwise and apparently, it's nothing more than I deserve."

They stare at each other for almost a minute, Dean breathing heavily, heart thumping too fast in his chest, his eyes holding on to the tears that are now glistening making them look greener than they should. Sam keeps his intact too, refusing to allow himself that luxury as the realisation hits him, the confirmation of what he'd always been afraid of. That it's all on him. Him and only him. His brother and his messed up head, getting himself killed, the deal, everything. He replays the accusations over and over in his mind allowing them to leave their mark, leave scars that he doesn't want to heal.

"Dean..."

He steps towards Dean and Dean steps back shaking his head, the anger seemingly melting away.

"Why Sam? What the hell did I do? You think I deserved all that crap Dad put on me, telling me to look out for you, telling me I might have to kill you? And what that bastard demon did to me, that little Hell appetizer - you think I had that coming? You think I deserved that? You think I deserve to get tortured by the people I love?"

"Dean..."

"And now? Now after everything I get to go to Hell and turn into the thing that I've been raised to hate the most? Turn into the same thing that destroyed our family? Why _me_, Sam? Haven't I been screwed with enough? Aren't I screwed up enough?"

The older of the two breaks eye contact, shaking his head slightly, blinking hard, runs a hand through his hair. He exhales, glances at Sam, then down at his feet.

"Forget what I said. Just get outta here."

"No."

Sam's voice is still fragile, still weak but his resolve is firm and he stands his ground refusing to budge.

"Sam just go. Leave me alone."

"No."

He takes a step closer and Dean takes a step back.

There's a brief pause before Dean yells at Sam, he tries to sound angry, determined but it comes out different somehow, broken, weary.

"**GO**!"

Dean shoves him and Sam stumbles backwards but immediately regains his balance and takes another step, lessening the space between them.

"No."

Dean grabs the front of his shirt and again shoves him away. Harder this time and Sam falls hard against the wall behind him, slides pitifully to the floor. Dean looks down at him then away, the shame in his eyes not unnoticed by his brother.

"Dammit, Sam just go."

He turns away then, turns his back, slowly makes his way to the couch and sits heavily before his knees give way. Sam watches him from his position on the floor, watches his brother crumbling before his eyes and knows that he had asked for it.

He pushes himself to his feet and closes the distance between them, though unnoticed by Dean, who sits there head lowered and scrubbing his hands across his face, the exhaustion smothering him as the realisation hits him that he has no where else to go but knowing he would rather fight an army of demons than face his brother right now. He keeps his face down, hoping that when he looks up again Sam won't be there but of course Sam is there, Sam is right in front of him, only inches away.

As Sam drops down in front of his brother he feels his stomach twist with uncertainty, knowing he's crossed a line, knowing there's no backtracking and no escaping the situation they're both in and that whatever happens now is going to hurt so much because he's destroyed the boundaries and the defences and now he has no choice but to go forward.

Dean whispers, his voice raw but doesn't look up, doesn't need to.

"Sam, _please_; I just wanna be alone."

Sam tentatively places a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Yeah? _Too bad_."

"Sam..."

"I'm not gonna leave you."

"Sammy..."

"I _won't. Leave you_."

Dean looks up then and Sam sees how close the tears are to spilling, sees the defeat and sees the will and the strength dissipate and as the last of Dean's resolve deserts him Sam watches miserably as the first of many tears is released and makes it's way slowly down his cheek, reaching his chin just before he speaks, his voice so ragged and small and lost Sam wonders if he ever really did get his big brother back.

"You will. Everyone does."

Like a knee jerk, Sam's hand involuntarily shoots forward, wipes the tear away with his thumb and leaves his hand there, gripping the side of his brother's face.

"_I_ won't. I promise."

Dean's eyes drop. He breathes in shakily.

"I'm sorry."

Sam drops his hand to his brother's shoulder, gives him a light shake and speaks firmly, hoping he can make himself heard.

"Don't be. You've done nothing wrong."

Sam watches the emotions flicker across his brother's face, sees him fighting with the voices in his head, the voices telling him to shut up, to get a grip, to suck it up soldier and be a man. Sam watches him lose.

"It hurt, Sam. What that son of a bitch did."

Sam nods and says nothing and when Dean finally looks at him, finds himself having to bite down on his lip to keep from crying out, to keep from screaming as his brother's eyes search his for some kind of salvation - salvation which he can't even give and then Dean's eyes flicker downwards a little, slightly lower than his own, far enough for him to hide but not so far that Sam can't see all the agony in his life, from childhood to now, from the last three years, from the last six months, from the last few weeks and he's thankful that Dean can't see what is reflected back at him, can't see his own torment and grief as he listens to his brother's broken confession.

"I know it wasn't Bobby..."

He shakes his head and Sam involuntarily grips his shoulder even tighter, the fingers digging in painfully without either of them noticing.

"It wasn't him...Just like it wasn't you, or Dad, but... it _hurt _Sam..._so bad_. Everything...everything was just slipping away - cause I couldn't take it. I couldn't take it and it wasn't even the real thing. It wasn't even the real thing."

Dean suddenly finds himself enclosed in his brother's arms and knows that he couldn't pull away even if he wanted to. He reaches for Sam, even though it makes him ashamed, clings desperately and pitifully to his shirt and discovers that he thinks he might just believe Sam when he says he won't go away. He buries his face into his brother's shoulder, unable to stop the shaking in his limbs or his voice.

"I didn't mean it, I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Sam pulls him even closer, tightens his arms around him in a vice like hold.

"Ssh. You're my brother. You've nothing to be sorry for, you don't deserve _any_ of this and I love you. I love you _so_ much."

* * *

They hadn't spoken for a long time after Dean had done crying. He'd been the first to pull away of course and he'd tried to get up and turn away from his little brother, unfortunately said little brother was having none of it. Sam had held on to his upper arms and just looked at him, waited for Dean to lift his eyes from their usual spot somewhere near his feet, waited for him to make eye contact. It had taken a while but he had finally managed it and his reddened and wet eyes had met with Sam's and remained there and neither of them had spoken. They hadn't needed to.

The moment had ended with a half smile from Sam and a mirrored one from Dean and then Dean had smacked Sam lightly on the arm and headed off the bathroom to try and erase some of the indignity of breaking down and crying on his little brother yet again.

They spend the morning lying on their respective beds with the TV on in order to drown out the silence. It's uncomfortable at first but it soon eases as the hours drift by and then Bobby calls and Sam answers and unfortunately it's bad news because the lead on Bela's whereabouts had been a bust. Part of Sam doesn't really care because he just wants to hang out with his big brother and not go chasing sociopathic British chicks even if they are incredibly hot but then he remembers why they're chasing the incredibly hot, sociopathic British chick because she stole the only weapon they have against an army of demons and possibly Dean's most substantial chance of getting out of a trip to Hell.

So yes, a part of him is angry, concerned, frustrated and scared and the other part of him, the part of him which is in blissful denial right now is relieved and thankful to actually be able to spend some time with his brother - time which doesn't involve fake I.D.'s or, fake uniforms, or fake names with cheesy rock references, or ghosts, or monsters or demons or anything else which normal people don't usually have to deal with or think about.

Sam glances across at Dean whose eyes are fixed on the TV but with not even mild interest and he turns on his side to face him hoping to get his attention. Dean appears to see him out of the corner of his eye because Sam notices him tense a little and his focus momentarily drops from the daytime crap and the two girls screaming bleeped out obscenities at each other before refocusing, the frown giving him away even if the popping of his jaw hadn't.

Sam smiles to himself, a little sadly and wonders when it was that Dean had become afraid of talking to him.

"Dude, do you remember the lost frisbee?"

Dean turns to him shooting him a bemused look. Sam grins.

* * *

_"Okay Sammy you ready? This is gonna be a good one."_

_"Not too high Dean, I'm shorter than you."_

_"Don't be such a girl. This shouldn't be a problem for someone of your youth, kiddo."_

_The plastic disc that Bobby had bought for them one afternoon while John was out on a solo hunt, went whizzing through the air with grace and speed straight across eight year old Sam's head, the admittedly admirable leap his little legs had attempted not even anywhere near high enough to catch it. And of course Winchester luck being what it was the frisbee lodged itself into a tall tree some twenty feet behind him._

_Dean rolled his eyes._

_"Dude you are worse than useless."_

_"Sorry Dean, but I told you not so high."_

_"You're supposed to jump Sam!"_

_"But I did."_

_"You call that a jump? Hell Sam, All You Can Eat Fat Man Harry from the fish bar could have done better."_

_Sam pulled a face._

_"You shouldn't call him that; it isn't nice to make fun of people."_

_Dean shrugged._

_"He's fat and he's called Harry, who's making fun?"_

_Sam huffed and looked away._

_"So what now? You wanna go catch some frogs?"_

_Dean shot him and incredulous look._

_"What you gonna let some tree come in the way of our bet. We agreed on twenty Sam, which means you have to catch the damn thing. We aint goin' back until we reach twenty."_

_"Aw, come on Dean we've been at it for two hours now."_

_"You quittin' on me Sammy?"_

_"I just don't see that it matters."_

_"Because Sam we agreed on twenty. We go back now, it means we failed. You wanna look Bobby in the eye and tell him you failed? Or worse, Dad?"_

_"It's just a frisbee Dean. Besides I think Bobby was just screwing with y'."_

_Dean's face fell into a hurt expression._

_"No, he wasn't."_

_Sam shrugged again and decided not to tell his older brother about the sly wink his Uncle Bobby had given him shortly after boasting to Dean that his personal record at frisbee was thirty six._

_"So then what. You want me to climb that thing, risk my ass for a stupid piece of plastic?"_

_Dean crossed his arms and nodded resolutely._

_"Damn straight!"_

_Sam looked up at the tree, the tree that towered over his tiny frame and Dean followed his gaze, wincing a little._

_"I dunno Dean; I mean you threw it, not me."_

_Dean smirked unimpressed._

_"**You** were supposed to catch it, squirt."_

_Sam grimaced and looked back at the tree, then at the stinking, slimy, boggy marsh beneath it, then at his brother, then back at the tree. _

_"Alright."_

_He turned back round to face Dean once again and nodded and Dean's twelve year old heart swelled with pride._

_"I'll do it."_

_As Dean watched his little brother's skinny legs take him off to the tree a feeling of panic, dread and good old common sense kicked in as he suddenly realised what was about to happen._

_"Sam wait!"_

_The younger of the two stopped in his tracks and spun around. Dean smiled at him._

_"You know what? You're right, I'm being unfair. We should settle this the old fashioned way."_

* * *

Dean laughs until he cries and so does Sam lying flat on his back the high pitched shrieks making Dean smile even more.

"Dude, you totally stank out Bobby's entire bathroom."

"You kiddin' me? He wouldn't let me anywhere near his bathroom until he'd hosed me down."

Sam shrieks again and wipes his eyes, propping himself up on an elbow.

"You know he really came through for us that day. Could you imagine if Dad had have found out? Our asses would have been toast."

Dean smiles in agreement.

"Yeah, I guess nothin' changes much huh?"

Sam lays back down again sighing, exhausted.

"You know you could have saved yourself a whole lot of grief growing up if you hadn't always gone for the damn scissors."

Dean smiles a little to himself.

"Yeah, well; you always went for the rock, Sammy."

The comment doesn't hit Sam straight away, but then it does slamming into him hard, turning all his memories upside down. He sits up frowning, staring at his brother, tears suddenly pricking his eyes and not from the laughter this time.

"Dean..."

The sound barely makes itself heard from Sam's now uncomfortably dry throat and he watches Dean, now leaning against the head board eyes forward, his expression, calm contented, until he turns his head to look at Sam and Sam thinks he sees a flicker of something else in his eyes. He allows the words to sink in, the reality of it making his head spin and he tries to work out just how many times his brother had put him first, let him win, taken the fall for him, given up what he had so he could see his little brother smile. He can't of course but he holds Dean's gaze for a long time until the elder of the two looks away.

They're quiet for a while, lost in their own thoughts not really noticing the silence in the room until it's shattered by a soft broken sigh.

"Hey, Dean?"

Dean waits a moment or two before answering.

"Yeah?"

"I always knew, y' know?"

Dean turns his head, his brow pinched into a slight frown only to be met with the Sam Is On The Verge of Tears face that normally has his stomach seizing up and his throat closing and this time is no exception so he does what he normally does and says nothing and allows his little brother to say whatever it is he feels he needs to say.

"That I had the best big brother in the world?"

He shrugs and looks away eyelids fluttering.

"And I might not have always shown it but... I always knew."

He turns his gaze back to Dean's, his eyes shiny and piercing telling Dean everything that he can't say with words just like they always do and it has the usual effect of making Dean feel like he's been punched in the gut. Dean breathes in and then out, looks away and tries to act like there aren't tears in his eyes, then clears his throat discreetly before turning back to Sam his expression serious.

"You want pizza? I'm _starving_."

Sam laughs his eyes still shimmering, then shakes his head a little. After a long moment he turns back to Dean, a little more composed, a little more himself.

"Sure. Pizza sounds good."

Dean's about to get up when Sam stops him with an upheld hand.

"You stay here, I'll get it."

"You sure? It's my turn... I think."

Dean looks up at Sam, now standing and Sam looks down at Dean and smiles just a little.

"Nah, I think it's mine, Dean."

He does that thing again with his eyes when he's trying to tell Dean something really important and Dean lets him know in the way he always does that he understands and then Sam's mouth twitches upwards and he turns to leave almost making it through the door until Dean calls him back.

"Hey Sam?"

He turns his expression questioning, softening slightly when he sees the sincerity in his brother's eyes.

"Yeah Dean?"

"What you just said?"

Dean coughs again, looks uncomfortable and avoids eye contact until right at the last moment.

"Well, I kinda think you're pretty alright too."

Sam grins looking down at Dean, chuckling again.

"That's it? Pretty alright? That's the best you can come up with?"

Dean pulls a face and leans back nonchalantly on his propped up pillow.

"Hey that came from the heart dude see I'm even welling up."

He points to his eyes which are now of course barely moist. Sam's still grinning shaking his head.

"That is so lame!"

Dean rolls his eyes as Sam turns to leave once again.

"Hey Sammy make sure you get extra spicy beef."

Sam screws up his face in disgust.

"No way!"

"Aww why not?"

"Because I'm the one who has to share a bathroom with your extra spicy beef Dean, that's why not."

* * *

A couple of days later Bobby gets in touch with very little useful information about Bela and his friend from the hotel has come up with nothing but a pile of horse shit but Bobby tells them not to worry because something will come up about her soon and that it's only a matter of time before she screws up. Sam tells Dean that Bobby's headed home and wants them to come stay with him for a few days while everything's quiet or whatever and Dean grimaces because Sam has that too innocent expression on his face that tells him Bobby wants to do more than just hang out and damn it they really don't need to 'talk' about 'what happened' because it's all water under the bridge now and they should just forget about it. Sam says that he never said anything of the sort and that he's pretty sure that Bobby doesn't want to 'talk' about 'what happened' either but maybe they could still all meet up and try and get things back to normal and besides it would save them some cash if they stayed at Bobby's for a while.

Dean pulls another face and says that things are already back to normal and that it's Sam that has the issues not him and besides he'd rather hang out at the motel than go driving across the country just so Bobby can make them do his chores for him and anyway there's something on TV that he wants to watch.

Sam pulls his Are You Smoking Crack? face.

"You're kidding me right? You'd rather watch Chenelle and Phoenix argue about who the lucky father of their morbidly obese offspring is than go meet up with the only family we have left?"

He knows it's a slightly low blow and so does Dean and reacts like the petulant child that he's feeling like right now.

"Bobby's not family dude, Dad just told you that to stop you winging about being left alone."

Dean turns up the volume so that he can hear Chenelle and Phoenix argue over Sam's constant whining but all that happens is Sam turns his own volume up and paces in front of the TV which really pisses him off because it's just at the exact moment that Chenelle slaps Phoenix across her white trash face and then pulls her by her hair on to the floor. Of course Dean misses all this because there's a gigantic, over educated Sasquatch stood in front of it, his arms spread out to the side which really reminds him of his pain in the ass little brother which isn't all that strange because - wait a minute it is his pain in the ass little brother.

"Dude, what's your problem?"

Dean sits up then, turning the TV off because it's pointless now he can't see Phoenix's boobs wobbling around as she tries remove Chenelle's corneas.

"I'll give you a hint shall I college boy. He's about forty feet tall, talks a lot like a girl, has hair that's a lot like a girl's and his name is a lot like a girl's. Oh yeah and it rhymes with Spam. Any ideas?"

Sam rolls his eyes and sighs dramatically like Dean just said something incredibly annoying or something.

"Dean, lets just go. Get it over with."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Dude. It's Bobby."

Dean glares at Sam and lets him know that he's not exactly happy at having his own words thrown back at him. Sam glares back but eventually gives in looking away and sitting on the bed next to Dean.

"Look, Dean, would it really be so bad for the two of you to sit down and talk about this."

Dean stabs a finger at Sam.

"Aah! I knew it. If I thought for one moment that Bobby wanted to discuss Bela or a hunt or whatever I wouldn't have a problem with it but you and I both know that this is a set up to get me to 'talk' about 'what happened', 'my feelings' and then have a group hug at the end, followed by pan pipes, ice cream and herbal tea and for the last time Sam, It's not gonna happen; I don't need to talk, Bobby doesn't need to talk, the only one who needs to talk is you, so get over it."

"You're wrong man."

"Yeah? What exactly did Bobby say huh?"

"Dean, he didn't have to say anything. He just wants to see you; you know just to hang out without the distraction of a hunt."

"Yeah? Well so what I'm not going."

Dean crosses his arms and scowls doing a fabulous impression of a thirteen year old throwing a tantrum. Sam smiles to himself and regards his brother with a slightly parental tone which is lost on Dean.

"Dean, why are you being an ass?"

Dean glares at him, then at the TV, then at his feet then back at Sam. He finally gets up and walks towards the window turning his back on his younger sibling, who then sighs, a little bored maybe.

"I'll call him alright? I'll call him and tell him we're busy but that everything's fine."

He turns back round to face Sam and then Sam gets up and walks towards him which Dean supposes is meant to intimidate him or make him nervous or something and of course it doesn't do anything of the sort, not at all. Not even slightly.

Sam looks down at him from his colossal height and glares at him in that way he does when he's trying to channel John 'I gave you and order' Winchester but doesn't quite get it right because the twitching eyebrows and long shaggy hair kind of ruin the whole 'I'm a badass, honest' image he's trying to pull. But he tries all the same.

"And then what Dean? You avoid him, stay out of his way until your relationship with him is reduced to nothing more than a bunch of strained, uncomfortable phone calls which only occur when you need his help?"

Dean pulls his Now You're Beginning to Bore Me face and turns away in an attempt to convince Sam that he really couldn't give a shit.

"Sam..."

But then Sam steps a little closer and Dean backs off until he's as close to the wall as he can get, but not because Sam's making him nervous or concerned for his health in anyway, because he isn't, not even a little, but it's because Sam is invading his personal space and he's all about personal space and Sam's invading it which in his opinion is just plain rude and his next comment thrown at his brother isn't in anyway some lame textbook defence mechanism which no doubt Sam will say it is but just his way of getting Sam to get the hell out of his face.

"Sam, much as I like you - you get any closer to me and we'll be slow dancin'."

He reaches out and pats Sam cheerfully on the arm which apparently wasn't a wise move because Sammy the Baddass shrugs it off, grabs hold of his arm and uses it to shove him none too gently into the wall.

"Why are we doing this Dean? It's the same song and dance as always and it's gettin' real old. I yell at you, you act like you don't care, I yell at you some more and then eventually, give or take a little minor league violence, some cussing and maybe even a flying object or two, you give in and do the thing that you never really needed me to tell you to do in the first place. So you think we could just...skip to the end?"

Dean frowns because he always hates this bit, the bit where Sam has him backed into a corner, literally and he has no where else to go and nothing to hide behind and no other smart remarks to come up with to cover up the fact that he's acting like an asshole and that he knows he's acting like an asshole and that he also knows that Sam is right about everything. And it's all his stupid-damn-way-too-smart little brother's fault.

Of course that doesn't mean he has to give in right away because then where would be the fun in that? He makes an attempt to pull his arm free from the Sasquatch's unnaturally vice like grip which results in his other arm being pinned in a similar fashion which really pisses him off because he really, really can't pull free.

"Let go of me, Sam. I mean it."

Sam just shakes his head

"How long you gonna leave it, Dean? You gonna wait until your last day before you fix things with him?"

"There's_ nothing_ to fix."

"Well then there's no problem. Is there?"

Sam's not the only one who can play the badass except of course he's not playing at it, although he wishes someone would tell his little brother that because it doesn't seem to be having the desired effect. Sam just tilts his head and gives him this horrid, sarcastic smirk which makes him feel incredibly uncomfortable and he really wishes Sam would just let go of him. He tries again to break free of the fingers digging into his arms and he thinks that if he does manage to get free he's going to find it very hard not to give Sam a black eye but then something inside him gives and he doesn't like the way it feels and he's finding it really hard to keep up this little game and a part of him just wants to let Sam win and get it over with but the other part of him, the part that wants to run and hide isn't quite ready to let him.

Sam watches his brother's reaction carefully and he swears he can see the fear in his eyes and senses the defiance dissipating and he feels like an asshole doing what he's doing but one of the downfalls of knowing your brother inside and out is knowing exactly what buttons to push to get him to crack, knowing when to push them and knowing that you're an absolute bastard for doing it.

Dean frowns and struggles yet again, the discomfort obvious in his eyes and Sam just holds his arms tight, saying nothing allowing the silence to hang there, deliberately, torturous.

And then he speaks, voice as dark as his eyes ignoring the slight contortions on Dean's face, the twitching of his jaw, his lip, as his anger battles with the anguish he's trying so hard to keep hidden.

"Okay, Dean. How 'bout I spell it out to you. You and Bobby have unfinished business. A demon used him to torture you; used _Bobby_, so that once again you got to experience the fun of having someone you love hurt you - just like Dad. Just like me."

Dean shakes his head the contradiction of fury and tears flickering in his eyes.

"Why don't you shut up?"

Sam ignores the disguised threat, ignores the anger and tries not to listen to the voice in his head telling him that he's torturing his brother yet again.

"Bobby feels like crap because that thing made him put you through hell and he got a front row seat. Neither of you wanna face it because basically it hurts too much and what happens now is that the two you of avoid each other, avoid talking to each other about anything that doesn't involve demons, ghosts or supernatural entities and thus obliterating everything you had with the guy who's been the closest thing you've had to a father since Dad died."

"Shut up, Sam. I mean it."

"So the two of you can carry on like this, pretending nothin' happened? Sure you could do that, but it will eat away at you both Dean, believe me. I _know_."

Sam's voice breaks involuntarily and Dean's anger drops to nothing as his brother's rockets.

"Sam...stop."

"What, you think just cause we never talked about it I don't think about it all the time? I remember those things she made me do, made me say to you, I remember the look in your eyes, remember how much I hurt you..."

"It wasn't you Sam!"

"**I KNOW**! But it doesn't change the fact that I hate myself for letting her do that, use me like that. I can only imagine how Bobby feels right now, how _you_ feel."

Dean knows it's almost over because he could never fight his little brother's anguish; he could never stand up against that. He watches as the tears in Sam's eyes gradually seep away as he regains control and wonders if he could ever be more proud of him.

"So what's it gonna be Dean? You gonna stay here feelin' sorry for yourself, acting like you're just great when it's obvious to everyone that you're not or are you gonna stop being a prick, be my big brother, grow a pair and get your ass out there and go sort this out?"

Dean swallows. Hard. Can't bring himself to answer right away and he's not that sure he trusts his voice because once again his manipulative bitch of a gigantic baby brother has melted his defences to mush and he swears that Sam's turning him into a girl on purpose, morphing him a little each day, really slow in the hope that he won't notice.

"Well?"

The giant girl is waiting for an answer it seems and Dean decides he can wait a bit longer because if Sam gets to win this argument then it's going to be under protest.

"I want an answer."

Dean shrugs slightly.

"Yeah, well I wanna marry Jessica Alba, have six kids and call em all Reggie, but y' know - life's a bitch."

"_Dean_?!"

Sam's using his John Winchester patented This Is Your Last Warning tone on him and he wonders what Sam would actually do if he did what he had never dared do with his Dad and ignored it. He decides he doesn't want to find out.

"Alright, alright."

He pulls a disgruntled face just to save at least some of his dignity, looks away briefly, then back at Sam, tilts his head just slightly to the side and clears his throat before speaking, the inflection making it almost a question.

"The second one?"

Sam nods satisfied.

"Alright then."

"Fine."

"_Fine._"

"Well then."

"Let's go."

Sam finally lets go of him and pats his arm in the most patronising gesture Dean has ever witnessed before turning towards the door and he decides that no, _h_e is going to have the last word damn it because he's the oldest and it's his right.

Sam doesn't get a chance to reach the door before he's brought short by a hard swat to the back of his head, causing him to spin around, his face a mixture of shock, anger and Labrador Puppy Shortly After Being Kicked.

Dean stares back at him looking affronted, still suffering from having his dignity violated.

"Dude! What was that for?"

Dean's response is arguably even whineier than Sam's.

"You hurt my arm."

He pulls a face while rubbing his left bicep and Sam shakes his head as he follows him out of the room.

"Dude, you're such a girl."

* * *

It's late evening when they finally arrive at Singer's Salvage Yard and Sam hasn't failed to notice the increased tension in the car or the way Dean's brow had become more and more furrowed as the distance between them and their old friend diminished. It's always a source of amusement to Sam how terrified Dean is of the mundane normalities of real life, talking to someone, about stuff, about normal things without the hunt, without the job to hide behind or distract.

He'd jumped to Bobby's aid without question or hesitation. His fear and apprehension hadn't even made a guest appearance while they were tracking down stoner boy. Things had been a little weird at the hospital but you could always put that down to the fact that it had been them saving Bobby's ass and not the other way around. Either that or the absence of Bobby's trucker's cap which - truth be told - had unsettled and upset them all.

Dean had been tense afterwards and it had become apparent that something he had seen while under the influence of the dream root had shaken him to his core. Dean had shared a little of what was going on in his head but Sam knows all too well that whatever happened will probably go with Dean to his grave.

Bobby's waiting for them at the door when they arrive and he greets them warmly, in that usual way of his, makes brief eye contact with Dean and gives no indication that he feels any of the nerves or tension that Dean is experiencing. He ushers them through to his kitchen where he's obviously been busy doing something that some would describe as 'cooking' although Sam's not too sure. Dean thinks it smells awesome and Bobby winks at him and says it won't be too long and that it just needs time to 'stew'. Sam shudders and Dean grins enthusiastically and any tension he was feeling is suddenly forgotten.

They chat casually while Bobby stirs and seasons his pan of whatever it is it's supposed to be and then Sam suddenly announces he has to head out for an hour to get some supplies and Dean glares at him and states through gritted teeth that they don't need supplies and if they do then he'll go get them himself and Sam says he doesn't mind and then Dean hurriedly mentions the supper that Bobby has so kindly prepared for them and Bobby just shrugs and says that another hour won't hurt and that it'll just give the flavours time to come out and Sam winces again, then grins before slapping Dean on the back of his shoulder and then he's gone.

Dean scowls after him and then turns to Bobby with an awkward grin. Bobby says nothing, just turns the heat down and covers the pan with a well browned and burnt lid before turning to the younger man, his expression completely unreadable just like Dean had expected.

"So, you wanna beer?"

Dean nods.

"Beer sounds good."

Bobby grabs a couple of bottles from his cooler, pops off the tops and hands one to Dean.

"You gonna have a seat or y' planning on leaving soon?"

Dean chuckles nervously, takes off his jacket and sits at the table. He tilts the bottle towards Bobby before taking a long gulp.

Bobby follows suit and then there's a long, painful silence as each of the two men wait for the other to speak and at the same time try to thing of something to say themselves. Bobby's more than a little surprised when it's Dean that takes the lead.

"So Bobby. Sam thinks we need to talk. You know, about what happened?"

He doesn't take his eyes off the beer bottle, turns it around in his hand grateful for the minor distraction, something to focus on, something other than Bobby's fierce glare. Bobby takes a drink of his beer, then exhales loudly.

"Do we have to?"

Dean laughs and suddenly finds it's not all that hard to make eye contact with the old man.

"Course not. Don't you ever - you know...lie?"

Bobby smiles crookedly giving him a wink and Dean swears that things are already back to normal and there's absolutely no need for them to talk about it. No need. Whatsoever.

So they don't. At least not for a few minutes and instead they chat about Bela's possible whereabouts and the new and interesting ways in which Dean could kill her when he finds her. Bobby laughs and tells Dean to remind him not to ever piss him off then Bobby flinches at his own comment and Dean's grin fades to nothing his eyes dropping back to his beer.

Another long and even more painful silence ensues and this time it's Bobby that breaks it.

"I saw everything you know. All of it. I remember what I did to you..."

"It wasn't you."

It's almost like a conditioned response, a knee jerk reaction as if he's used to saying it, as if he's said it too many times.

Bobby sighs and rubs a hand across his beard knowing that nothing he can say would make any difference or undo what he wishes so badly could be undone. It doesn't really matter though as Dean seems intent on changing the subject.

He looks up and cheerfully nods towards the stove.

"So, your trademark recipe huh? This mean you're not mad at me anymore?"

Bobby says nothing but his expression clearly says he has no idea what the young man is talking about.

Dean rubs his chin and looks away.

"You know, all that shit in Atlantic City. I know I screwed up Bobby."

He looks back down at his beer starts picking at the label. Bobby just watches him sadly.

"You still think I walked out on y' huh?"

Dean's jaw twitches but he says nothing eyes still fixed on his beer.

"Dean, I left cause I had some business to take care of. An old friend actually. And I thought that I'd give you and your brother a little time to sort things out."

Dean frowns but still doesn't look up.

"I thought..."

"Yeah I know what you thought and you're an idjit for thinkin' that. I should kick your butt just for even goin' there."

A faint smile tugs at the younger man's lips and he finally looks up, his expression slightly questioning, slightly worried with a glint in his eyes that tells Bobby it's one hundred percent fake.

"You're not going to are you?"

Bobby glares at him and Dean's not all that sure that _he's_ faking and the mock worry turns into real worry and then a small chuckle as Bobby reaches across and slaps him lightly across the side of his head.

They're quiet again for a few minutes, though not uncomfortably so and they finish their beers a little too quickly and then Dean, to Bobby's surprise yet again begins another line of conversation which he would have never been able to predict.

"You know, Sam still thinks he can save me."

"Do _you_?"

"I dunno."

"Do you want him to?"

He nods and swallows thickly.

"Yeah."

He glances up momentarily, partly to see if Bobby's still there and that he hasn't run away from the rapidly encroaching, disgustingly humongous chick flick moment that's almost on top of them and he's a little surprised to see that he is still there and doesn't look in the slightest bit uncomfortable, just like he's waiting patiently and he wonders for a minute if he really is the one with the problem like Sam's always telling him.

He chuckles slightly, with a hint of bitterness and shakes his head, looking up but not at the older man.

"Y' know Bobby, I always thought I knew what fear was. But this...every morning I wake up and...Sometimes..."

He pauses, looks back down at his hands and fortunately for Bobby, doesn't see the tears in the old man's eyes.

"Sometimes I think I'm gonna drown in it."

The break in his voice is enough for Bobby to return to the cooler and produce two more beers, gratefully received by Dean who takes an unhealthily large mouthful before exhaling shakily.

"Do you think he'd be proud, Bobby? Of what I did?"

His eyes find Bobby's and searches them, pleads for an answer.

"Would _you_ have been, if you..."

Bobby leans forward then interrupting, his voice frighteningly stern almost making him jump.

"Let me tell you somethin' boy. If it was me, if I'd have been lucky enough to call the two of you my own, I would have made sure Sam knew he had a home to come back to, I'd have made sure he knew how proud I was of him and you...well I'd have seen to it that you knew just how special you were, how damn important you were and then maybe you wouldn't have made that damn stupid deal in the first place."

Dean turns pale, swallows heavily, looks away blinking furiously then swallows again.

"That so hard for you to hear?"

Dean shakes his head, teeth grinding.

"It's not that it's just...I mean I miss Dad so badly and sometimes I think I'd do anything to have him back and then other times I just wanna yell at him. And I don't wanna be mad at him cause I know he did his best."

"Maybe."

"It must have been hell for him. It wasn't his fault we had to live the way we did."

"It wasn't your fault either."

Dean nods.

"You know sometimes Bobby - and I really hate myself for this, but sometimes...I just...I just wish that...that you..."

He swallows again and shakes his head.

"That you were..."

Dean can't finish the sentence but he doesn't need to. Bobby can hear the unspoken words. The younger of the two looks away eyes filling with guilty tears, remains still staring straight ahead and releases a bitter laugh scrubbing at his eyes before they betray him and suddenly he freezes, unable to move as he's paralyzed by the sudden burn in his throat and he feels like he's falling and he doesn't hear the scrape of the chair or feel the presence of someone at his side because he's falling so fast but before he hits the bottom he's caught by arms stronger and older than his own and they hold him tightly refusing to let go.

This time he doesn't fight them, just allows them to hold him together while he cries.

* * *

They stay at Bobby's for a few days and they talk and relax, have target practice in the woods, sample some of Bobby's 'cooking' and work their asses off with the many chores that Bobby finds for them. They don't discuss the war, demons or Dean's deal and it's a welcome break before they head out once again on their own, with Bobby's strict instructions to keep in touch ringing in their ears and it isn't long before they find something else to hunt and as usual nothing is ever straight forward. At least not for Sam.

A couple of hundred Tuesdays, one long Wednesday and three imaginary months of hell later, Sam finds himself once again side by side with his brother in a police cell once again trying to convince the good guys that they are also the good guys and it's the clouds of black smoke outside that they need to be worried about.

And once again they come out relatively unscathed leaving a trail of destruction and devastation behind them, another mark on their souls that Dean finds hard to believe can ever be erased. But then that's Dean, his brother - his brother who has to save everyone or he's not doing his job right.

Ruby had left them both shell shocked, horrified, devastated, guilty, angry and a hundred other things which they hadn't invented words for yet but Sam's got his logic head on these days because they're at war and can't afford to let the unfortunate and unpreventable loss of life get to them - at least that's what he keeps telling himself when the face of that brave young girl pops into his head every now and then and Sam can tell that Dean's experiencing something very similar, although for him he reckons it's more like permanently etched in his brain rather than 'now and then'.

They don't speak for ages after Ruby's left them and Dean just stares at the TV for the longest time even when Sam switches it off and tries to get him to look at him; he just keeps staring at it. When Sam can't take anymore he sits on Dean's bed in front of him blocking his view of the TV screen so that he has no where else to look so Dean turns his interest to his hands resting in his lap instead which Sam doesn't object to. Yet.

"Dean?"

He touches his brother's arm lightly and is rewarded with zero response.

"Come on, bro."

Dean looks up then suddenly furious.

"You think she'd still be alive if I hadn't showed up?"

"_What_?"

"Unity. If I hadn't shown up and acted out like I did, the demon - he'd never have known who we were."

"Dean..."

"He told me Sam. She'd still be alive..."

"You don't know that."

"How many more have to die cause of me, Sam? Layla, Dad, Unity, Nancy and that's just touching the surface."

"Dean don't do this to yourself, you don't have to do this. You don't need to add anymore..."

"To the list?"

"I was gonna say guilt."

"It's never enough, Sam. No matter how hard I try, it's never enough. No matter how many people we save, it's never enough. Nothing will ever make up for the ones we lost. And I mean you've been tryin' so hard to save my soul but...Sometimes I think that you're wasting your time cause... you know even without the deal... maybe... maybe I'm headed there anyway. Maybe I always was."

Sam frowns and shifts a little closer, Dean looks away jaw tightening.

"Sam, if you're gonna yell at me..."

"I'm not gonna yell at you."

He says it convincingly although the harsh tone of his voice suggests he's lying through his teeth.

"But the only reason I'm not is because I know that you don't really believe that."

Dean looks up and meets his eyes and Sam can see, can feel the devastation within his brother. He ducks his head a little fixing Dean with his most fierce glare ensuring that what he's about to say is heard, clear enough to sink in, loud enough to leave an impact.

"But if you ever- _ever_ say anything like that again, I will beat the crap out of you, do you understand?"

Dean's eyes drop once again, back to his feet, the old familiar position that had been their favourite resting place for too long. Sam shakes him a little, forces him to look back up at him.

"You aint goin' to hell alright? Not this year, not next year, not _ever_."

Dean blinks and Sam thinks he even tries to smile, almost and even as he averts his eyes yet again he swears that maybe just a little of what he's saying is starting to sink in.

"We're gonna win this war Dean. I mean you said it yourself, they sent all those demons after us. After _us_ Dean. They know they've got a fight on their hands. We're trouble for them and they know it. And you wanna know what else I think?"

He pauses, waits for Dean to return his focus, waits for eye contact and then rewards him with an ever so slightly evil grin.

"I think it's because we're so _awesome_."

Dean looks at him, pride forcing a smile which he hadn't wanted to make but just couldn't help and wonders when Sam learned how to make him feel better with the use of words and nothing else. He generally relied on liquor to do that particular task but then it's recently come to his attention that his brother knows him a hell of a lot better than your average bottle of whiskey.

"Oh and another thing."

Sam's tone lightens a little but he still has that look on his face which suggests that if Dean doesn't listen up then he's going to be in a whole world of trouble.

"What I said before about dedicating my life to getting you out of Hell? Yeah, well screw that. If I can't save you, if Ruby doesn't come through for us, if there's nothing else I can do and that day comes and I still haven't found a way and they come for you then...well they're gonna have to get through me first alright? You're not gonna be alone anymore and there's _no way_ that I'm leaving you. You got that?"

He glares fiercely at Dean and this time Dean doesn't look away.

"Sammy?"

"Yeah Dean?"

"That has to be the craziest thing you have said all year."

Sam chuckles and looks at the floor, nodding in agreement.

"Yeah."

* * *

Dean's final months shoot past far too quickly and Sam can sense his brother's fear growing with every week as his own determination to save his brother increases. They're working together now though which makes it easier than having to hide his research, keep everything that he's been up to quiet because Dean has finally decided he wants to live and is actually allowing his little brother to help. Sam battles fiercely, tirelessly for his brother's soul and frequently forgets that he needs to sleep, eat and use the bathroom and most of the time he ignores Dean when he reminds him of these basic human functions but when the eve of Dean's final week arrives they're both too exhausted to fight sleep.

Sam's trying to remain positive and pretend to Dean that he has no doubt that they still have plenty of time to find a way out and Dean pretends that he believes him and when Dean goes to the bathroom leaving Sam staring at the computer screen it's all he can do to stifle the sounds of his sobs that suddenly come from nowhere so that his big brother won't hear his despair. He covers his mouth with his hand screws his eyes shut tight, shoulders shaking as he tries desperately to not let his brother hear, to regain control and he of course has no idea that Dean is standing leaning against the door inside the bathroom, eyes closed listening to his baby brother temporarily crumble.

Dean hears the sounds of his brother crying stop as quickly as they had started as unseen to him, Sam scrubs a hand across his face lets out a shaky breath composing himself and then the sounds of despair are replaced by the tip tapping of fingers furiously, desperately striking a keyboard.

They go to bed late because Dean physically removes the lap top from Sam reminding him that he's no good to him if he's a zombie and Sam reluctantly complies and they both sleep fitfully, restlessly for several hours, dreams, nightmares and dark memories disturbing their slumber.

Sam dreams of clocks and blood and screaming and Dean dreams of fire and pain and loneliness and the sound of hounds howling into the wind.

Sam's not sure what it is that causes him to sit up fully awake around the early hours but looking across to the opposite bed he clearly sees the outline of his brother sat up, knees bent arms resting limply on top. He watches him for a few moments unable to move wanting to be sure that this isn't another dream until a car drives past and the headlights illuminate the room for a second showing up the tear tracks on his brother's face and in that moment he sees the darkness and agony and sheer terror in Dean's eyes.

He moves silently to sit at his side; puts an arm around the shoulders, the shoulders which he now notices are shaking. The inhaled breath catches in Dean's throat, teeth bite hard on his lip and the eyes close, blocking out the world and his fate and his empty future, a future which holds nothing but despair and suffering for both of them. Sam guides Dean's head to rest on his shoulder, pulling him close and then listens, silently, without comment as the near inaudible sobs course through his brother breaking his heart little by little. He rests his chin on Dean's head occasionally shifting his hand from Dean's shoulder to stroke the cropped hair and Dean doesn't complain, doesn't pull away from him, his defences scattered in pieces for now and they stay that way in the silence of their thoughts and fears until sleep finally finds them, offering temporary refuge and wrapping them up safely, blissfully, in it's comforting oblivion.

**End **

_So that's it for now at least. I know I said there would be a third part but the strike changed everything so I don't know anymore. Thanks so much for sticking with me, I hope you enjoyed._

_Re rock paper scissors: I read this fic which had this adorable Weechester flashback where they did the rock paper scissors, Dean chose scissors and Sammy chose rock and the writer had Dean's thoughts down which said "Always with the rock Sammy." I just though it summed up their relationship completely and made perfect sense as Dean really isn't that dumb that he'd repeatedly go for the scissors unless he wanted to lose - I wish I could remember which fic it was so I could reference it properly. If it's yours and you're reading this, hope you don't mind._


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